-  y/.-^yfjr^^j. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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J.   W.    De  FOREST, 
(Autkar   of  "Overland,"   etc.) 


O  y  E  II  L  A  N  D 


A    NOVEL. 


BY 


J.  W.  DE  FOREST, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  KATE  BEAUMONT  "  "  MISS  EAVENEL'S  CONVEESION,  "  &o. 


NEW  YORK: 
SHELDON   A,ND  CO]MP»^V]SrY, 

077  BROADWAY,  AND  21 1  &  'ilG  MERCER  ST. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  iSyx,  by 

SHELDON  AND  COMPANY, 

!a  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  a'.  Washingtoa. 


Steretoyped  by  Smith  &  McDougal,  82  Beekman  Street,  N^'^-  York 


OVERLAND. 


By    J.    W.    De    Forest,    Author   of    "Kate    Beaumont,"   etc. 


CHAPTER  I. 


I 


N  those  days,  Santa  ¥6,  New  Mexico,  was  an  undergrown,  decrepit,  outat- 
elbows  ancient  hidalgo  of  a  town,  with  not  a  scintillation  of  prosperity  or 
grandeur  about  it,  except  the  name  of  capital. 

It  was  two  hundred  and  seventy  years  old;  and  it  had  less  than  five  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  It  was  the  metropolis  of  a  vast  extent  of  country,  not  desti-- 
tute  of  natural  wealth  ;  and  it  consisted  of  a  few  narrow,  irregular  streets,  lined 
by  one-story  houses  built  of  sun-baked  bricks.  Owing  to  the  fine  climate,  it  was 
difficult  to  die  there ;  but  owing  to  many  things  not  fine,  it  was  almost  equally 
difficult  to  live. 

Even  the  fact  that  Santa  F6  had  been  for  a  period  under  the  fostering  wings 
of  the  American  eagle  did  not  make  it  grow  much.  Westward-ho  emigrants 
halted  there  to  refit  and  buy  cattle  and  provisions  ;  but  always  started  resolutely 
on  again,  westward-hoing  across  the  continent.  Nobody  seemed  to  want  to 
stay  in  Santa  Fe,  except  the  aforesaid  less  than  five  thousand  inhabitants,  who 
were  able  to  endure  the  place  because  they  had  never  seen  any  other,  and  who 
had  become  a  part  of  its  gray,  dirty,  lazy  lifelessness  and  despondency. 

For  a  wonder,  this  old  atom  of  a  metropolis  had  lately  had  an  increase  of 
population,  which  was  nearly  as  great  a  wonder  as  Sarah  having  a  son  when  she 
was  "well  stricken  in  years."     A  couple  of  new-comers— not  a  man  nor  woman 
less  than  a  couple — now  stood  on  the  flat  roof  of  one  of  the  largest  of  the  sun- 
baked brick  houses.     By  great  good  luck,  moreover,  these  two  were,  I  humbly 
trust,  worthy  of  attention.     The  one  was  interesting  because  she  was  the  hand- 
J       somest  girl  in  Santa  F^,  and  would  have  been  considered  a  handsome  girl  any- 
nVP  where  ;  the  other  was  interesting  because  she  was  a  remarkable  woman,  and 
y       even,  as  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick  might  have  phrased  it,  "  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
women  in  our  country,  sir."     At  least  so  she  judged,  and  judged  it  too  with  very 
considerable  confidence,  being  one  of  those  persons  who  say,  "  If  I  know  myself, 
and  I  think  I  do." 

The  beauty  was  of  a  mixed  type.  She  combined  the  blonde  and  the  brunette 
fashions  of  loveliness.  You  might  guess  at  the  first  glance  that  she  had  in  her 
the  blood  of  both  the  Teutonic  and  the  Latin  races.     While  her  skin  was  cleaj 

Ap  540324 


4  OVERLAND. 

and  rosy,  and  her  curling  hair  was  of  a  light  and  briglit  chestnut,  lier  long,  shad- 
owy eyelashes  were  almost  black,  and  her  eyes  were  of  a  deep  hazel,  nearly  allied 
to  blackness.  Her  form  had  the  height  of  the  usual  American  girl,  and  the 
round  plumpness  of  the  usual  Spanish  girl.  Even  in  her  bearing  and  expres- 
sion you  could  discover  more  or  less  of  this  union  of  different  races.  There  was 
shyness  and  frankness  ;  there  was  mistrust  and  confidence  ;  there  was  sentimen- 
tality and  gayety.  In  short,  Clara  Munoz  Garcia  Van  Diemen  was  a  handsome 
and  interesting  young  lady. 

Now  for  the  remarkable  woman.  Sturdy  and  prominent  old  ciiaracter,  obvi- 
ously. Forty-seven  years  old,  or  thereabouts  ;  lots  of  curling  iron-gray  hair 
twisted  about  her  round  forehead  ;  a  few  wrinkles,  and  not  all  of  the  newest 
Round  face,  round  and  earnest  eyes,  short,  self-confident  nose,  chin  sticking  out 
in  search  of  its  own  way,  mouth  trembling  with  unuttered  ideas.  Good  figure — 
what  Lord  Dundreary  would  call  "dem  robust,"  but  not  so  sumptuous  as  to  be 
merely  ornamental ;  tolerably  convenient  figure  to  get  about  in.  Walks  up  and 
down,  man-fashion,  with  her  hands  behind  her  back — also  man-fashion.  Such  is 
Mrs.  ALiria  Stanley,  the  sister  of  Clara  Van  Diemen's  father,  and  best  known  to 
Clara  as  Aunt  Maria. 

"And  so  this  is  Santa  Fe.'"'  said  Aunt  Maria,  rolling  her  spectacles  over  the 
little  wilted  city.  "  Founded  in  1581  ;  two  hundred  and  seventy  years  old.  Well, 
if  this  is  all  that  man  can  do  in  that  time,  he  had  better  leave  colonization  to 
woman." 

Clara  smiled  with  an  innocent  air  of  half  wonder  and  half  amusement,  such 
as  you  may  see  on  the  face  of  a  child  when  it  is  shown  some  new  and  rather 
awe-striking  marvel  of  the  universe,  whether  a  jack-in-a-box  or  a  comet.  She 
had  only  known  Aunt  Maria  for  the  last  four  years,  and  she  had  not  yet  got  used 
to  her  rough-and-ready  mannish  ways,  nor  learned  to  see  any  sense  in  her  phi- 
yosophizings.  Looking  upon  her  as  a  comical  character,  and  supposing  that  she 
talked  mainly  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  she  was  disposed  to  laugh  at  her  doings 
and  sayings,  though  mostly  meant  in  solemn  earnest. 

"But  about  your  affairs,  my  child,"  continued  Aunt  Maria,  suddenly  gripping 
a  fresh  subject  after  her  quick  and  startling  fashion.  "  I  don't  understand  them. 
How  is  it  possible  ?  Here  is  a  great  fortune  gone  ;  gone  in  a  moment ;  gone 
.ncomprehensibly.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Some  rascality  here.  Some  man  at 
the  bottom  of  this." 

"  I  presume  my  relative,  Garcia,  must  be  right,"  commenced  Clara. 

"  No,  he  isn't,"  interrupted  Aunt  Maria.  "  He  is  wrong.  Of  course  he's 
wrong.     I  never  knew  a  man  5'et  but  what  he  w'as  wrong." 

"You  make  me  laugh  in  spite  of  my  troubles,"  said  Clara,  laughing,  however, 
cnly  through  her  eyes,  which  had  great  faculties  for  sparkling  out  meanings. 
"  But  see  here,"  she  added,  turning  grave  again,  and  putting  up  her  hand  to  ask 
attention.  "  Mr.  Garcia  tells  a  straight  story,  and  gives  reasons  enougli.  There 
was  the  war,"  and  here  she  began  to  count  on  her  fingers.  "  That  destroyed  a 
great  deal.  I  know  when  my  father  could  scarcely  send  on  money  to  pay  my 
bills  in  New  York.  And  then  there  was  the  signature  for  Senor  Pedraez.  And 
then  there  were  the  Apaches  who  burnt  the  hacienda  and  drove  off  the  cattle. 
And  then  he " 

Her  voice  faltered  and  she  stopped  ;  she  could  not  say,  "  He  died." 

"My  poor,  dear  child  !  "  sighed  Aunt  Maria,  walking  up  to  the  girl  and  ca- 
ressing her  with  a  tenderness  which  was  all  womanly. 

"That  seems  enough,"  continued  Clara,  when  she  could  speak  again.     "1 


OVERLAND.  5 

suppose  that  wliat  Garcia  and  tlie  lawyers  tell  us  is  true.  I  suppose  I  am  not 
uorth  a  thousaiui  dollars." 

•'  Will  a  thousand  dollars  support  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.      I  don't  think  it  will." 

"Then  if  I  can't  set  this  thing  straight,  if  I  can't  make  somebody  disgorge 
your  property,  I  must  take  you  back  with  me." 

"  Oh  !  if  you  would  !  "  implored  Clara,  all  the  tender  helplessness  of  Spanish 
girlhood  appealing  from  her  eyes. 

"Of  course  1  will,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  with  a  benevolent  energy  which  was 
almost  terrific. 

"  I  would  try  to  do  something.     I  don't  know.     Couldn't  I  teach  Spanish  ?  " 

"You  shan't,''  decided  Aunt  Maria.  "  Yes,  you  shall.  You  shall  be  profes- 
sor of  foreign  languages  in  a  Female  College  which  I  mean  to  have  founded." 

Clara  stared  with  astonishment,  and  then  burst  into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter, 
the  two  finishing  the  drying  of  her  tears.  She  was  so  far  from  wishing  to  be  a 
strong-minded  person  of  either  gender,  that  she  did  not  comprehend  that  her 
aunt  could  wish  it  for  her,  or  could  herself  seriously  claim  to  be  one.  The  talk 
about  a  professorship  was  in  her  estimation  the  wayward,  humorous  whim  of  an 
eccentric  who  was  fond  of  solemn  joking.  Mrs.  Stanley,  meanwhile,  could  not 
see  why  her  utterance  should  not  be  taken  in  earnest,  and  opened  her  eyes  at 
Clara's  merriment. 

We  must  say  a  word  or  two  concerning  the  past  of  this  young  lady.  Twenty- 
five  years  previous  a  New  Yorker  named  Augustus  Van  Diemen,  the  brother  of 
that  Maria  Jane  Van  Diemen  now  known  to  the  world  as  Mrs.  Stanley,  had  mi- 
grated to  California,  set  up  in  the  hide  business,  and  married  by  stealth  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  Mexican  named  Pedro  Munoz.  Munoz  got  into  a  Span- 
ish Catholic  rage  at  having  a  Yankee  Protestant  son-in-law,  disowned  and  for- 
mally disinherited  his  child,  and  worried  her  husband  into  quitting  the  country. 
Van  Diemen  returned  to  the  United  States,  but  his  wife  soon  became  homesick 
for  her  native  land,  and,  like  a  good  husband  as  he  was,  he  went  once  more  to 
Mexico.  This  time  he  settled  in  Santa  Fd,  where  he  accumulated  a  handsome 
fortune,  lived  in  the  best  house  in  the  city,  and  owned  haciendas. 

Clara's  mother  dying  when  the  girl  was  fourteen  years  old.  Van  Diemen  felt 
free  to  give  her,  his  only  child,  an  American  education,  and  sent  her  to  New  York, 
where  she  went  through  four  years  of  schooling.  During  this  period  came  the 
war  between  the  United  States  and  Mexico.  Foreign  residents  were  ill-treated  ; 
Van  Diemen  was  sometimes  a  prisoner,  sometimes  a  fugitive  ;  in  one  way  or  an- 
other his  fortune  went  to  pieces.  Four  months  'previous  to  the  opening  of  this 
story  he  died  in  a  state  little  better  than  insolvency.  Clara,  returning  to  Santa 
F^  under  the  care  of  her  energetic  and  affectionate  relative,  found  that  the  del- 
uge of  debt  would  cover  town  house  and  haciendas,  leaving  her  barely  a  thou- 
sand dollars.  She  was  handsome  and  accomplished,  but  she  was  an  orphan  and 
Cpoor.  The  main  chance  with  her  seemed  to  lie  in  the  likelihood  that  she  would 
find  a  mother  (or  a  father)  in  Aunt  Maria. 

Yes,  there  was  another  sustaining  possibility,  and  of  a  more  poetic  nature. 
There  was  a  young  American  officer  named  Thurstane,  a  second  lieutenant  act- 
ing as  quartermaster  of  the  department,  who  had  met  her  heretofore  in  New 
York,  who  had  seemed  delighted  to  welcome  her  to  Santa  Fd,  and  who  now 
called  on  her  nearly  every  day.  Might  it  not  be  that  Lieutenant  Thurstane 
would  want  to  make  her  Mrs.  Thurstane,  and  would  have  power  granted  him  tc 
induce  her  to  consent  to  the  arrangement  ?     Clara  was  sufficiently  a  woman,  and 


6  OVERLAND. 

sufficiently  a  Spanish  woman  especially,  to  believe  in  marriage.     She  did  not 

rmean  particularly  to  be  Mrs.  Thurstane,  but  she  did  mean  generally  to  be  Mrs. 
Somebody.     And  why  not  Thurstane  ?     Well,  that  was  for  him  to  decide,  at 
least  to  a  considerable  extent.    In  the  mean  time  she  did  not  love  him  ;  she  only 
1_  disliked  the  thought  of  leaving  him. 

While  these  two  women  had  been  talking  and  thinking,  a  lazy  Indian  servant 
had  been  lounging  up  the  stairway.  Arrived  on  the  roof,  he  advanced  to  La 
Senorita  Clara,  and  handed  her  a  letter.  The  girl  opened  it,  glanced  through  it 
with  a  flushing  face,  and  cried  out  delightedly,  "  It  is  from  my  grandfather.  How 
wonderful !  O  holy  Maria,  thanks  !  His  heart  has  been  softened.  He  invites 
me  to  come  and  live  with  him  in  San  Francisco.     O  Madre  de  Dios  /" 

Although  Clara  spoke  English  perfectly,  and  although  she  was  in  faith  quite 
as  much  of  a  Protestant  as  a  Catholic,  yet  in  her  moments  of  strong  excitement 
she  sometimes  fell  back  into  the  language  and  ideas  of  her  childhood. 

"  Child,  what  are  you  jabbering  about  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Maria. 

"  There  it  is.  See  !  Pedro  Munoz  !  It  is  his  own  signature.  1  have  seen 
letters  of  his.     Pedro  Munoz  !     Read  it.     Oh!  you  don't  read  Spanish." 

Then  she  translated  the  letter  aloud.  Aunt  Maria  listened  with  a  firm  and 
almost  stern  aspect,  like  one  who  sees  some  justice  done,  but  not  enough. 

"  He  doesn't  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  at  the  close  of  the  reading. 

Clara,  supposing  that  she  was  expected  to  laugh,  and  not  seeing  the  point  of 
the  joke,  stared  in  amazement. 

"  But  probably  he  is  in  a  meeker  mood  now,"  continued  Aunt  Maria.     "  By 
this  time  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  sees  his  past  conduct  in  a  proper  light.     The 
r^  letter  was  written  three  months  ago." 

'  "  Three  months  ago,"  repeated   Clara.     "  Yes,  it  has  taken  all  that  time  to 

come.     How  long  will  it  take  me  to  go  there  ?     How  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  We  will  see,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  with  the  air  of  one  who  holds  the  fates  in 
her  hand,  and  doesn't  mean  to  open  it  till  she  gets  ready.  She  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  as  yet  that  this  grandfather- Munoz  was  a  proper  person  to  be  intrusted 
with  the  destinies  of  a  young  lady.  In  refusing  to  let  his  daughter  select  her 
own  husband,  he  had  shown  a  very  squinting  and  incomplete  perception  of  the 
[rights  of  woman. 

"  Old  reprobate  !  "  thought  Aunt  Maria.     "  Probably  he  has  got  gouty  with 
his  vices,  and  wants  to  be  nursed.     I  funcy  I  see  him  getting  Clara  without  go- 
\%g  on  his  sore  marrow-bones  and  begging  pardon  of  gods  and  women." 
'  "  Of  course  I  must  go,"  continued  Clara,  unsuspicious  of  her  aunt's  reflections. 

"At  all  events  he  will  support  me.     Besides,  he  is  now  the  head  of  my  family.'' 

"  Head  of  the  family  !  "  frowned  Aunt  Maria.  "  Because  he  is  a  man  ?  So 
much  the  more  reason  for  his  being  the  tail  of  it.  My  dear,  you  are  your  own 
head." 

"  Ah — well.  What  is  the  use  of  all  J/iai  ?  "  asked  Clara,  smiling  away  those 
views.     "  I  have  no  mone}',  and  he  has." 

"Well,  we  will  see,"  persisted  Aunt  Maria.     "  I  just  told  you  so.     We  will 
L_  see." 

The  two  women  had  scarcely  left  the  roof  of  the  house  and  got  themselves 
down  to  the  large,  breezy,  sparsely  furnished  parlor,  ere  the  lazy,  dawdling  In- 
dian servant  announced  Lieutenant  Thurstane. 
r  Lieutenant  Ralph  Thurstane  was  a  tall,  full-chested,  finely-limbed  gladiator 

of  perhaps  four  and  twenty.     Broad  forehead  ;  nose  straight  and  high  enough  ; 
lower  part  of  the  face  oval ;  on  the  whole  a  good  physiognomy.     Cheek  bones 


OVERLAND.  7 

.-atlier  strongly  marked  ;  a  hint  of  Scandinavian  ancestry  supi^orled  by  his  name. 
Thurstane  is  evidently  Thor's  stone  or  altar;  forelatliers  priests  of  the  god  of 
tliunder.  His  complexion  was  so  reddened  and  darkened  by  sunburn  that  his 
untanned  forehead  looked  unnaturally  white  and  delicate,  fiis  yellow,  one 
might  almost  call  it  golden  hair,  was  wavy  enough  to  be  handsome.  Eyes  quite 
remarkable  ;  blue,  but  of  a  very  dark  blue,  like  the  coloring  which  is  sometimes 
^iven  to  steel  ;  so  dark  indeed  that  one's  first  impression  was  that  they  were 
black.  Their  natural  expression  seemed  to  be  gentle,  pathetic,  and  almost  im- 
ploring ;  but  authority,  responsibility,  hardship,  and  danger  had  given  them  an 
ability  to  be  stern.  In  his  whole  face,  young  as  he  was,  there  was  already  the 
look  of  the  veteran,  that  calm  reminiscence  of  trials  endured,  that  preparedness 
for  trials  to  come.  In  fine,  taking  figure,  physiognomy,  and  demeanor  together, 
LJie  was  attractive. 

/*       He  saluted  the  ladies  as  if  they  were  his  superior  officers.     It  was  a  kindly 
*-  address,  but  ceremonious  ;  it  was  almost  humble,  and  yet  it  was  self-respectful. 

"  I  have  some  great  news,"  he  presently  said,  in  the  full  masculine  tone  of 
one  who  has  done  much  drilling.  "That  is,  it  is  great  to  me.  1  change  sta- 
tion." 

"  How  is  that?"  asked  Clara  eagerly.  She  was  not  troubled  at  tlie  thought 
of  losing  a  beau  ;  we  must  not  be  so  hard  upon  her  as  to  make  that  supposition  ; 
but  here  was  a  trustworthy  friend  going  away  just  when  she  wanted  counsel  and 
perhaps  aid. 

"  I  have  been  promoted  first  lieutenant  of  Company  I,  Fifth  Regiment,  and  1 
must  join  my  company." 

"  Promoted  !     I  am  glad,"  said  Clara. 

"You  ought  to  be  pleased,"  put  in  Aunt  Maria,  staring  at  the  grave  face  of 
the  young  man  with  no  approving  expression.  "  I  thought  men  were  always 
pleased  with  such  things." 

"  So  I  am,"  returned  Thurstane.  "  Of  course  I  am  pleased  with  the  step. 
But  I  must  leave  Santa  F^.     And  I  have  found  Santa  F^  very  pleasant." 

There  was  so  much  meaning  obvious  in  these  last  words  that  Clara's  face 
colored  like  a  sunset. 

"I  thought  soldiers  never  indulged  in  such  feelings,"  continued  the  unmoUi- 
fied  Aunt  Maria. 
I         "Soldiers  are  but  men,"  observed  Thurstane,  flushing  tlu'ough  his  sunburn. 
L        "  And  men  are  weak  creatures." 

Thurstane  grew  still  redder.  This  old  lady  (old  in  his  young  eyes)  was  al- 
ways at  him  about  his  manship,  as  if  it  were  a  crime  and  disgrace.  He  wanted 
to  give  her  one,  but  out  of  respect  for  Clara  he  did  not,  and  merely  moved  un- 
easily in  his  seat,  as  men  are  apt  to  do  when  they  are  set  down  hard. 

"  How  soon  must  you  go  ?     Where  ?  "  demanded  Clara. 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  close  my  accounts  here  and  turn  over  my  stores  to  my 
successor.  Company  I  is  at  Fort  Yuma  on  the  Colorado.  It  is  the  first  posl 
in  California." 

"  California !  And  Clara  could  not  help  brightening  up  in  cheeks  an(5 
eyes  with  fine  tints  and  flashes.     "  Why,  I  am  going  to  California." 

"We  will  see,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  still  holding  the  fates  in  her  fist. 

Then  came  the  story  of  Grandfather  Munoz's  letter,  with  a  hint  or  two  con- 
cerning the  decay  of  the  Van  Diem.en  fortune,  for  Clara  was  not  worldly  wise 
enough  to  hide  her  poverty, 

Thurstane's  face  turned  as  red  with  pleasure  as  if  it  had  been  dipped  in  the 


8  OVERLAND. 

sun.     If  this  young  lady  was  going  to  California,  lie  might  perhaps  be  hei 

knight-errant  across  the  desert,  guard  her  from  privations  and  hardships,  and 

crown  himself  with  her  smiles.     If  she  was  poor,  he  mi^ht — well,  he  would  not 

speculate  upon  that ;  it  was  too  dizzying. 

r~       We  must  say  a  word  as  to  his  history  in  order  to  show  why  he  was  so  shy 

/    and  sensitive.     He  had  been  through  West  Point,  confined  himself  while  there 

I   closely  to  his  studies,  gone  very  soon  into  active  service,  and  so  seen  little  society. 

The  discipline  of  the  Academy  and  three  years  in  the  regular  army  had  ground 

into  him  the  soldier's  respect  for  superiors.     He  revered  his  field  officers  ;  he 

received  a  communication  from  the  War  Department  as  a  sort  of  superhuman 

revelation  ;  he  would  have  blown  himself  sky-high  at  the  command  of  Genera! 

Scott.     This  habit  of  subordination,  coupled  with  a  natural  fund  of  reverence. 

led  him  to  feel  that  many  persons  were  better  than  himself,  and  to  be  humble  in 

their  presence.     All  women  were  his  superior  officers,  and  the  highest  in  rank 

L_\vas  Clara  Van  Diemen. 

Well,  hurrah  !  he  was  to  march  under  her  to  California  !  and  the  thought 
made  him  half  wild.  He  would  protect  her  ;  he  would-  kill  all  the  Indians  in  the 
desert  for  her  sake  ;  he  would  feed  her  on  his  own  blood,  if  necessary. 

As  he  considered  these  proper  and  feasible  projects,  the  audacious  thought 
which  he  had  just  tried  to  expel  from  his  mind  forced  its  way  back  into  it.  If 
the  Van  Diemen  estate  were  insolvent,  if  this  semi-divine  Clara  were  as  poor  as 
himself,  there  was  a  call  on  him  to  double  his  devotion  to  her,  and  there  was  % 
nope  that  his  worship  might  some  day  be  rewarded. 

How  he  would  slave  and  serve  for  her ;  how  he  would  earn  promotion  for 
ner  sake;  how  he  would  fight  her  battle  in  life  !  But  would  she  let  him  do  it? 
Ah,  it  seemed  too  much  to  hope.  Poor  though  she  was,  she  was  still  a  heaven 
or  so  above  him  ;  she  was  so  beautiful  and  had  so  many  perfections  ! 

Oh,  the  purity,  the  self-abnegation,  the  humility  of  love  !  It  makes  a  man 
scarcely  lower  than  the  angels,  and  quite  superior  to  not  a  few  reverenced  saints* 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  I  MUST  say,"  observed  Thurstane — "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  advising — but 
1  think  you  had  better  accept  your  grandfather's  invitation." 

He  said  it  with  a  pang  at  his  heart,  for  if  this  adorable  girl  went  to  her  grand- 
father, the  old  fellow  would  be  sure  to  love  her  and  leave  her  his  property,  in 
which  case  there  [would  be  no  chance  for  a  proud  and  poor  lieutenant.  He 
gave  his  advice  under  a  grim  sense  that  it  was  his  duty  to  give  it,  because  the 
following  of  it  would  be  best  for  Miss  Van  Diemen. 

"  So  I  think,"  nodded  Clara,  fortified  by  this  opinion  to  resist  Aunt  Maria, 
and  the  more  fortified  because  it  was  the  opinion  of  a  man. 

After  a  certain  amount  of  discussion  the  elder  lady  was  persuaded  to  loosen 
her  mighty  grip  and  give  the  destinies  a  little  liberty. 

"  Well,  it  may  be  best,"  she  said,  pursing  her  mouth  as  if  she  tasted  the  bit- 
ter of  some  half-suspected  and  disagreeable  future.  "  I  don't  know.  I  won't 
undertake  positively  to  decide.  But,  if  you  do  go,"  and  here  she  became  au- 
thentic and  despotic — "  if  you  do  go,  I  shall  go  with  you  and  see  you  safe  there." 

"Oh!  w/Z/you?"  exclaimed  Clara,  all  Spanish  and  all  emotion  in  an  in- 
stant. "  How  sweet  and  good  and  beautiful  of  you  !  You  are  my  guardian  an- 
gel. Do  you  know  ?  I  thought  you  would  offer  to  go.  I  said  to  myself.  She  came 
on  to  Santa  Fe  for  my  sake,  and  she  will  go  to  California.  But  oh,  it  is  too 
much  for  me  to  ask.     How  shall  I  ever  pay  you  ?  " 


OVKKLANI).  " 

"  1  will  pay  myself,"  rolurned  Aunt  Maria.     "  I  have  plans  for  Califorr.ia."  ^ 

It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "  Go  to,  we  will  make  California  in  our  own  image." 

^       The  youn'T  lady  was  satisfied.     Her  strong-minded  relative  was  a  mighty  mys- 

Ttery  to  her,  just  as  men  were  mighty  mysteries.     Whatever  she  or  they  said 

could  be  done  and  should  be  done,  why  of  course  it  would  be  done,  and  that 

1, shortly.  .  . 

By  the  time  that  Aunt  Maria  had  announced  her  decision,  another  visito. 
was  on  the  point  of  entrance.  Carlos  Maria  Munoz  Garcia  de  Coronado  was  a 
nephew  of  Manuel  Garcia,  who  was  a  cousin  of  Clara's  grandfather  ;  only,  as 
Garcia  was  merely  his  uncle  bv  marriage,  Coronado  and  Clara  were  not  related 
by  blood,  though  calling  each  other  cousin.     He  was  a  man  of  medium  stature, 

r  slender  in  build,  aoile  and  graceful. in  movement,  complexion  very  dark,  features 
hicrh  and  aristocratic,  short  black  hair  and  small  black  moustache,  eyes  black  also, 
biU  veiled  and  dusky.  He  was  about  twenty-eight,  but  he  seemed  at  least  four 
years  older,  partly  because  of  a  deep  wrinkle  which  slashed  down  each  cheek,  and 
partly  because  he  was  so  perfectly  self-possessed  and  elaborately  courteous.     His 

L  intellect  was  apparently  as  alert  and  adroit  as  his  physical  action.  A  few  words 
from  Clara  enabled  him  to  seize  the  situation. 

"  Go  at  once,"  he  decided  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  My  dear  cousin, 
it  will  be  the  happy  turning  point  of  your  fortunes.  I  fancy  you  already  inherit- 
ing the  hoards,  city  lots,  haciendas,  mines,  and  cattle  of  our  excellent  relative 
Mufioz-long  may  he  live  to  enjoy  them  !  Certainly.  Don't  whisper  an  objec- 
tion. Munoz  owes  you  that  reparation.  His  conduct  has  been-we  will  not 
describe  it— we  will  hope  that  he  means  to  make  amends  for  it.  Unquestionably 
he  will.  My  dear  cousin,  nothing  can  resist  you.  You  will  enchant  your  grand- 
father. It  will  all  end,  like  the  tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  in  your  living  m  a 
palace.  How  delightful  to  think  of  this  long  family  quarrel  at  last  coming  to  a 
close  !     But  how  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  If  Miss  Van  Diemen  goes  overland,  I  can  do  something  toward  protecting 
her  and  making  her  comfortable,"  suggested  Thurstane.     "  I  am  ordered  to  Fort 

Yuma."  ,  .  ,  J 

Coronado  glanced  at  the  young  officer,  noted  the  guilty  blush  which  peeped 

out  of  his  tanned  cheek,  and  came  to  a  decision  on  the  instmt. 

»  Overland  !  "  he  exclaimed,  lifting  both  his  hands.     "  Take  her  overland  ! 

Mv  God  !  my  God  I  " 

'Thurstane  reddened  at  the  insinuation  that  he  had  given  bad  advice  to  Miss 
Van  Diemen  ;  but  though  he  wanted  to  fight  the  Mexican,  he  controlled  him- 
self, and  did  not  even  argue.  Like  all  sensitive  and  at  the  same  time  self-re- 
spectful persons,  he  was  exceedingly  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  others,  and 
was  a  very  lamb  in  conversation. 

"  It  is  a  desert,"  continued  Coronado  in  a  kind  of  scream  of  horror.  "It  is 
a  waterless  desert,'  without  a  blade  of  grass,  and  haunted  from  end  to  end  by 
Apaches.  My  little  cousin  would  die  of  thirst  and  hunger.  She  would  be 
hunted  and  scalped.     O  my  God  !  overland  !  " 

"  Emigrant  parties  are  going  all  the  while,"  ventured  Thurstane,  very  angry 
at  such  extravagant  opposition,  but  merely  looking  a  little  stiff. 

"  Certainly.  You  are  right.  Lieutenant,"  bowed  Coronado.  "  They  do  go. 
But  how  many  perish  on  the  way  ?  They  march  between  the  unburied  and  with- 
ered corpses  of  their  predecessors.  And  what  a  journey  for  a  woman— for  a 
lady  accustomed  to  luxury— for  my  little  cousin  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  deaj 
Lieutenant  Thurstane,  for  disagreeing  with  you.     My  advice  is— the  isthmus." 


10  OVERLAND. 

"I  ha\ie,  of  course,  nothing  to  say,"  admitted  the  officer,  returning  Corona- 
do's  bow.     "The  family  must  decide." 

"Certainly,  the  isthmus,  the  steamers,"  went  on  the  fluent  Mexican.  "You 
sail  to  Panama.  You  have  an  easy  and  safe  land  trip  of  a  few  days.  Then 
steamers  again.  Poff !  you  are  there.  By  all  means,  the  isthmus." 
|-^  We  must  allot  a  few  more  words  of  description  to  this  Don  Carlos  Coronado. 
Let  no  one  expect  a  stage  Spaniard,  with  the  air  of  a  matador  or  a  guerrillero, 
who  wears  only  picturesque  and  outlandish  costumes,  and  speaks  only  magnilo- 
quent Castilian.  Coronado  was  dressed,  on  this  spring  morning,  precisely  aa 
American  dandies  then  dressed  for  summer  promenades  on  Broadway.  His  hat 
was  a  fine  panama  with  a  broad  black  ribbon  ;  his  frock-coat  was  of  thin  cloth, 
plain,  dark,  and  altogether  civilized ;  his  light  trousers  were  cut  gaiter-fashion, 
and  strapped  under  the  instep  ;  his  small  boots  were  patent-leather,  and  of  the 
ordinary  type.  There  was  nothing  poetic  about  his  attire  except  a  reasonably 
wide  Byron  collar  and  a  rather  dashing  Crimson  neck-tie,  well  suited  to  his  dark 
complexion. 

His  manner  was  sometimes  excitable,  as  we  have  seen  above ;  but  usually  he 
was  like  what  gentlemen  with  us  desire  to  be.  Perhaps  he  bowed  lower  and 
smiled  oftener  and  gestured  more  gracefully  than  Americans  are  apt  to  do.  But 
there  was  in  general  nothing  Oriental  about  him,  no  assumption  of  barbaric 
pompousness,  no  extravagance  of  bearing.  His  prevailing  deportment  was  calm, 
grave,  and  deliciously  courteous.  If  you  had  met  him,  no  matter  how  or  where, 
you  would  probably  have  been  pleased  with  him.  He  would  have  made  conver- 
sation for  you,  and  put  you  at  ease  in  a  moment ;  you  would  have  believed  that 
he  liked  you,  and  you  would  therefore  have  been  disposed  to  like  him.  In  short, 
he  was  agreeable  to  most  people,  and  to  some  people  fascinating. 

And  then  his  English  !  It  was  wonderful  to  hear  him  talk  it.  No  American 
could  say  that  he  spoke  better  English  than  Coronado,  and  no  American  surely 
\^  ever  spoke  it  so  fluently.  It  rolled  off  his  lips  in  a  torrent,  undefiled  by  a  mis- 
pronunciation or  a  foreign  idiom.  And  yet  he  had  begun  to  learn  the  language 
after  reaching  the  age  of  manhood,  and  had  acquired  it  niiwnly  during  three  years 
of  exile  and  teaching  of  Spanish  in  the  United  States.  His  linguistic  clever- 
ness was  a  fair  specimen  of  his  general  quickness  of  intellect. 

Mrs.  Stanley  had  liked  him  at  first  sight^that  is,  liked  him  for  a  man.  He 
knew  it ;  he  had  seen  that  she  was  a  person  worth  conciliating ;  he  had  addressed 
himself  to  her,  let  off  his  bows  at  her,  made  her  the  centre  of  conversation.  In 
ten  minutes  from  the  entrance  of  Coronado  Mrs.  Stanley  was  of  opinion  that 
Clara  ought  to  go  to  California  by  w^ay  of  the  isthmus,  although  she  had  pre- 
viously taken  the  overland  route  for  granted.  In  another  ten  minutes  the  matter 
was  settled :  the  ladies  were  to  go  by  way  of  New  Orleans,  Panama,  and  the 
Pacific. 

Shortly  afterward,  Coronado  and  Thurstane  took  their  leave;  the  Mexican 
affable,  sociable,  smiling,  smoking ;  the  American  civil,  but  taciturn  and  grave. 

"  Aha  !  I  have  disappointed  the  young  gentleman,"  thought  Coronado  as  they 
parted,  the  one  going  to  his  quartermaster's  office  and  the  other  to  Garcia's 
house. 
P  Coronado,  although  he  had  spent  great  part  of  his  life  in  courting  women,  was 
a  bachelor.  He  had  been  engaged  once  in  New  Mexico  and  two  or  three  times 
f  .in  New  York,  but  had  always,  as  he  could  tell  you  with  a  smile,  been  disappointed. 
He  now  lived  with  his  uncle,  that  Seiior  Manual  Garcia  whom  Clara  has  men- 
tioned, a  trader  with  California,  an  owner  of  vast  estates  and  much  cattle,  and 


OVERLAND.  11 

reputed  to  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  New  Mexico.  Tho  two  often  quarrelled, 
and  the  elder  had  once  turned  the  younger  out  of  doors,  so  lively  were  their  dis- 
positions. But  as  Garcia  had  lost  one  by  one  all  his  children,  he  had  at  last 
taken  his  nephew  into  permanent  favor,  and  would,  it  was  said,  leave  him  his 

property. 

The  house,  a  hollow  square  built  o{ adobe  bricks  in  one  story,  covered  a  vast  deal 
of  ground,  had  spacious  rooms  and  a  court  big  enough  to  bivouac  a  regiment. 
It  was,  in  fact,  not  only  a  dwelling,  but  a  magazine  where  Garcia  stored  his  mer- 
chandise, and  a  caravansary  where  he  parked  his  wagons.  As  Coronado  lounged 
into  the  main  doorway  he  was  run  against  by  a  short,  pursy  old  gentleman  who 
was  rushing  out.         • 

"Ah!  there  you  are  !"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  in  Spanish.  "  O  you 
pig  !  you  dog  !  you  never  are  here.  O  Madre  de  Dios  !  how  I  have  needed  you  ! 
There  is  no  time  to  lose.     Enter  at  once." 

A  dyspeptic,  worn  with  work  and  anxieties,  his  nervous  system  shattered, 
Garcia  was  subject  to  fits  of  petulance  which  Avere  ludicrous.  In  these  rages  he 
called  everybody  who  would  bear  it  pigs,  dogs,  and  other  more  unsavory  nick- 
names. Coronado  bore  it  because  thus  he  got  his  living,  and  got  it  without 
much  labor. 

"  1  want  you,"  gasped  Garcia,  seizing  the  young  man  by  the  arm  and  drag- 
ging him  into  a  private  room,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  in  confidence — in  confi- 
dence, mind  you,  in  confidence — about  Mufioz." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Coronado,  as  the  old  man  slopped  to  catch  his 
breath. 

'•  Heard  of  it !  "  exclaimed  Garcia,  in  such  consternation  that  he  turned  yel- 
low, which  was  his  way  of  turning  pale.  "  Has  the  news  got  here  ?  O  Madre 
de  Dios!" 

"Yes,  I  was  at  our  little  cousin's  this  evening.     It  is  an  ugly  affair." 

"And  she  knows  it  ? "  groaned  the  old  man.     "  O  Madre  de  Dios  !  " 

"  She  told  me  of  it.  She  is  going  there.  I  did  the  best  I  could,  She  was 
about  to  go  overland,  in  charge  of  the  American,  Thurstane.  I  broke  tlut  up.  I 
persuaded  her  to  go  by  the  isthmus." 

"  It  is  of  little  use,"  said  Garcia,  his  eyes  filmy  with  despair,  as  if  he  were 
dying.     "  She  will  get  there.     The  property  will  be  hers." 

"  Not  necessarily.  He  has  simply  invited  her  to  live  with  bun.  She  msy 
not  suit." 

"  How?"  demanded  Garcia,  open-eyed  and  open-mouthed  with  ?nxipty. 

"  He  has  simply  invited  her  to  live  with  him,"  repeated  Coronado  "  I  saw 
the  letter." 

"  What !  you  don't  know,  then  ?  " 

"  Know  what  ? " 

"  Mnnoz  is  dead." 

Coronado  threw  out,  first  a  stare  of  surprise,  and  then  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"And  here  they  have  just  got  a  letter  from  him,"  he  said  presently;  "and 
(  have  been  persuading  her  to  go  to  him  by  the  isthmus  !  " 

"  May  the  journey  take  her  to  him  !  "  muttered  Garcia.  "  How  old  was  this 
letter?" 

"Nearly  three  months.     It  came  by  sea,  first  to  New  York,  and  then  here." 

"  My  news  is  a  month  later.  It  came  overland  by  special  messenger.  Lis- 
ten to  me,  Carlos.     This  affair  is  worse  than  you  know.     Do  yoij  know  whaV 


r 


L 


12  OVERLANJ. 

Munoz  has  done  ?  Oh,  the  pig  !  the  dog  !  the  villainous  pig  !  He  has  left  ev- 
erything to  his  granddaughter," 

Coronado,  dumb  with  astonishment  and  dismay,  mechanically  slapped  his 
bo«t  with  his  cane  and  stared  at  Garcia. 

"  I  am  ruined,"  cried  the  old  man.  "  The  pig  of  hell  has  ruined  me.  He  has 
left  me,  his  cousin,  his  only  male  relative,  to  ruin.    Not  a  doubloon  to  save  me. 

"  Is  there  iio  chance  ?  "  asked  Coronado,  after  a  long  silence. 

"None!  Oh — ^}'es — one.  A  little  one,  a  miserable  little  one.  If  she  dies 
without  issue  and  without  a  will,  I  am  heir.  And  you,  Carlos"  (changing  here 
to  a  wheedling  tone),  "you  are  mine." 

The  look  which  accompanied  these  last  words  was  a  terfible  mingling  of  cun- 
ning, cruelty,  hope,  and  despair. 

Coronado  glanced  at  Garcia  with  a  shocking  comprehension,  and  immediate- 
ly dropped  his  dusky  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

"You  know  I  have  made  my  will,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "and  left  you  every- 
thing." 

"  Which  is  nothing,"  returned  Coronado,  aware  that  his  uncle  was  insolvent 
in  reality,  and  that  his  estate  when  settled  would  not  show  the  residuum  of  a 
dollar. 

"  If  the  fortune  of  Munoz  comes  to  me,  I  shall  be  very  rich." 

"  When  you  get  it." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Carlos.     Is  there  no  way  of  getting  it  ?  " 

As  the  two  men  stared  at  each  other  they  were  horrible.  The  uncle  was  al- 
ways horrible  ;  he  was  one  of  the  very  ugliest  of  Spaniards  ;  he  was  a  brutal  car- 
icature of  the  national  type.  He  had  a  low  forehead,  round  face,  bulbous  nose, 
shaking  fat  cheeks,  insignificant  chin,  and  only  one  eye,  a  black  and  sleepy  orb, 
which  seemed  to  crawl  like  a  snake.  His  exceedingly  dark  skin  was  made  dark- 
er by  a  singular  bluish  tinge  which  resulted  from  heavy  doses  of  nitrate  of  silver, 
taken  as  a  remedy  for  epilepsy.  His  face  was,  moreover,  mottled  with  dusky 
spots,  so  that  he  reminded  the  spectator  of  a  frog  or  a  toad.  Just  now  he  looked 
nothing  less  than  poisonous  ;  the  hungriest  of  cannibals  would  not  have  dared 
eat  him. 

"  I  am  ruined,"  he  went  on  groaning.  "  The  war,  the  Yankees,  the  Apaches, 
the  devil — I  am  completely  ruined.  In  another  year  I  shall  be  sold  out.  Then, 
my  dear  Carlos,  you  will  have  no  home." 

'■'■  Saiigre  de  Diosf"  growled  Coronado.  "Do  you  want  to  drive  me  to  the 
devil  1 

"  O  Cod  !  to  force  an  old  man  to  such  an  extremity !  "  continued  Garcia. 
"  It  is  more  than  an  old  man  is  fitted  to  strive  with.  An  old  man — an  old,  su  k, 
v.orn-out  man  !  " 

"You  are  sure  about  the  will  ?"  demanded  the  nephew, 

"  I  have  a  copy  of  it,"  said  Garcia,  eagerly.  "  Here  it  is.  Read  it.  O  Matlre 
de  Dios  !  there  is  no  doubt  about  it.  I  can  trust  my  lawyer.  It  all  goes  to  her. 
It  only  comes  to  me  if  she  dies  childless  and  intestate." 

"This  is  a  horrible  dilemma  to  force  us  into,"  observed  Coronado,  after  he 
had  read  the  paper, 

"So  it  is,"  assented  Garcia,  looking  at  him  with  indescribable  anxiety,  "  Sc 
it  is  ;  so  it  is.     What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Suppose  I  should  marry  her  ?" 

The  old  man's  countenance  fell  ;  he  wanted  to  call  his  nephew  a  pig,  a  dog. 


OVERLAND.  IS 

and  everything  else  that  is  villainous  ;  but  he  restrained  himself  and   merely 
whimpered,  "  It  would  be  better  than  nothing.     You  could  help  me  " 

"There  is  little  chance  of  it,"  said  Coronado,  seeing  that  the  proposition  was 
not  approved.  "  She  likes  tlie  American  lieutenant  much,  and  does  not  like  me 
^t  all." 

"Then "  be^an  Garda.  ~rci  slopped  there,  trembling  all  over. 

Then  wnai . 
r^       The  venomous  oid  toaa  maae  <4  supreme  effort  and  whispered,  "  Suppose  slie 
snould  die  ?" 

Coronado  wheeled  about,  walked  two  or  three  times  up  and  down  tlie  room, 
returned  to  where  Garcia  sat  quivering,  and  murmured,  "  It  must  be  done 
quickly.' 

"Yes,  yes,"  gasped  the  old  man.  "  She  must — it  must  be  cliildless  and  in- 
testate." 

"  She  must  go  off  in  some  natural  way,"  continued  the  nephew. 

The  uncle  looked  up  with  a  vague  hope  in  his  one  dusky  and  filmy  eye. 

"  Perhaps  the  isthmus  will  do  it  for  her." 

Again  the  old  maa  turned  to  an  image  of  desnai'-  a<5  he  nr.umbled,  "  O  Madr** 
de  Dios  1  no,  no.     The  isthmus  is  nothing.' 

"  Is  the  overland  route  more  dangerouo  .      ^siKem  s.,o»iiuado. 

'^It  might  be  made  more  dangerous.  One  gets  lost  in  the  desert.  Ther«» 
are  Apaches." 

"  It  is  a  horrible  business,"  growled  Coronado,  shaking  his  head  and  biting 
his  lips. 

"  Oh,  horrible,  horrible  !  "  groaned  Garcia.  "  Muqoz  was  a  pig,  and  a  dog, 
and  a  toad,  and  a  snake." 

"You  old  coward!  can't  you  speak  out?  "hissed  Coronado,  losing  his  pa- 
tience. "  Do  you  want  me  both  to  devise  and  execute,  while  you  take  the  purses  ? 
Tell  me  at  once  what  your  plan  is." 

"  The  overland  route,"  whispered  Garcia,  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  "  You 
go  with  her.  I  pay — I  pay  everything.  You  shall  have  men,  horses,  mules, 
wagons,  all  you  want." 

"  I  shall  want  money,  too.  I  shall  need,  perhaps,  two  thousand  dollars. 
Apaches." 

"Yes,  yes,"  assented  Garcia.     "The  Apaches  make  an  attack.     You  shall 
(__  have  money.     I  can  raise  it ;  I  will." 

"  How  soon  will  you  have  a  train  ready  ?  " 

"  Immediately.  Any  dav  voj  want.  You  must  start  at  once.  She  must  not 
l<now  of  the  wilL  Mie  migni  rcxain  here,  and  let  the  estate  be  settled  for  her, 
ind  draw  on  'fc.     She  might  go  back  to  WewYarfc     Auyboc)  would  lend  her 

"Yes,  events  fcrirry  '::s,"  n;yl';ere<I  Cirocaao.  //ell,  get  your  cursed  train 
eadv  ^  'v:ll  induce  her  to  take  it.  I  must  uusny  now  all  that  I  said  in  favor 
jf  the  isthmus." 

"  Do  be  judicious,"  implored  Garcia,  "  With  judgment,  with  judgment. 
Lost  on  the  plains.  Stolen  by  Apaches.  No  killing.  No  scanda's.  O  my 
God,  how  I  hate  scandals  and  uproars  !  I  am  an  old  man,  Carlos.  With  judg- 
ment, with  judgment." 

"I  comprehend,"  responded  Coronado,  adding  a  long  string  of  Spanish 
curses,  most  o    them  meant  for  his  uncle. 


14  OVERLAND. 


CHAPTER   III. 


That  very  day  Coronado  made  a  second  call  on  Clara  and  her  Aunt  Maria, 
■to  retract,  contradict,  and  disprove  all  that  he  had  said  in  favor  of  the  isthmus 
and  against  the  overland  route. 

Although  his  visit  was  timed  early  in  the  evening,  he  found  Lieutenant 
Thurstane  already  with  the  ladies.  Instead  of  scowling  at  him,  or  crouching  in 
•conscious  guilt  before  him,  he  made  a  cordial  rush  for  his  hand,  smi.ed  sweetly 
in  his  face,  and  offered  him  incense  of  gratitude. 

"My  dear  Lieutenant,  you  are  perfectly  right,"  he  said,  in  his  fluent  English. 
*'The  journey  by  the  isthmus  is  not  to  be  though-t  of.  I  have  just  seen  a  friend 
who  has  made  it.  Poisonous  serpents  in  myriads.  The  most  deadly  climate  in 
tiie  world.  Nearly  everybody  had  the  voniitoj  one-fifth  died  of  it.  You  eat  a 
little  fruit;  down  you  go  on  your  back — dead  in  four  hours.  Then  there  are 
constant  fights  between  the  emigrants  and  the  sullen,  ferocious  Indians  of  the 
isthmus.  My  poor  friend  never  slept  with  his  revolver  out  of  his  hand.  I  said 
to  him,  "  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  cruel  to  rejoice  in  your  misfortunes,  but  I  am 
heartily  glad  that  I  have  heard  of  them.  You  have  saved  the  life  of  the  most 
remarkable  woman  that  I  ever  knew,  and  of  a  cousin  of  mine  who  is  the  star  of 
her  sex." 

Here  Coronado  made  one  bow  to  Mrs.  Stanley  and  another  to  Clara,  at  the 
same  time  kissing  his  sallow  hand  enthusiastically  to  all  creation.  Aunt  Maria 
tried  to  look  stern  at  the  compliment,  but  eventually  thawed  into  a  smile  over  it. 
Clara  acknowledged  it  with  a  little  wave  of  the  hand,  as  if,  coming  from  Corona- 
do, it  meant  nothing  more  than  good-morning,  which  indeed  was  just  about  liis 
measure  of  it. 

"Moreover,"  continued  the  Mexican,  "overland  route  ?  Wh}',  it  is  overland 
route  both  ways.  If  you  go  by  the  isthmus,  you  must  traverse  all  Texas  and  Lou- 
isiana, at  the  very  least.  You  might  as  weii  go  at  once  to  San  Diego.  In  short, 
the  route  by  the  isthmus  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 

"And  what  of  the  overland  route  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Stanley. 
-  "The  overland  route  is  the  oikcr,''^  laughed  Coronado. 

"Yes,  I  know.  We  must  take  it,  I  suppose.  But  what  is  the  last  news  about 
it  ?  You  spoke  this  morning  of  Indians,  I  believe.  Not  that  I  suppose  they  are 
very  formidable." 

"The  overland  route  does  not  lead  directly  through  paradise,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Stanley,"  admitted  Coronado  with  insinuating  candor.  "But  it  is  not  as  bad  as 
has  been  represented.  I  have  never  tried  it.  I  must  rely  upon  the  report  of 
others.  Well,  on  learning  that  the  isthmus  would  not  do  for  you,  I  rushed  off 
immediately  to  inquire  about  the  overland.  I  questioned  Garcia's  teamsters.  I 
catechized  some  newly-arrived  travellers.  I  pumped  dry  every  source  of  in- 
formation. The  result  is  that  the  overland  route  will  do.  No  suffering ;  ab- 
solutely none  ;  not  a  bit.  And  no  danger  worth  mentioning.  The  Apaches 
are  under  a  cloud.  Our  American  conquerors  and  fellow-citizens"  (here  he 
gently  patted  Thurstane  on  the  shoulder-strap),  "our  Romans  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  they  tranquillize  the  Apaches.  A  child  might  walk  from  here  to  Fort 
Yuma  without  risking  its  little  scalp." 

All  this  was  said  in  the  most  light-hearted  and  airy  manner  conceivable. 
Coronado  waved  and  floated  on  zephyrs  of  fancy  and  fluejicy.  A  butterfly  or  a 
humming-bird  could  not  have  talked  more  cheerily  about  flying  over  a  parterre 
of  flowers  than  he  about  traversing  the  North  American  desert.     And,  with  all 


OVERLAND.  IC 

this  frivolous,  imponderable  grace,  what  an  accent  of  verity  he  had  !  He  spoke 
of  the  teamsters  as  if  he  had  actually  conversed  with  them,  and  of  the  overland 
route  as  if  he  had  been  studiously  gathering  information  concerning  it. 

"I  believe  that  what  you  say  about  the  Apaches  is  true,"  observed  Thurstanr 
a  bit  awkwardly. 

Coronado  smiled,  tossed  him  a  little  bow,  and  murmured  in  the  most  cordial, 
genial  way,  "  And  the  rest  ?  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  reddening.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  casv 
doubt  upon  any  of  your  statements,  sir." 
f"  Thurstane  had  the  army  tone  ;  he  meant  to  be  punctiliously  polite  ;  perhai)s 
he  was  a  little  stilT  in  his  politeness.  But  he  was  young,  had  had  small  practice 
in  society,  was  somewhat  hampered  by  modesty,  and  so  sometimes  made  a  blun- 
der. Such  things  annoyed  him  excessively;  a  breach  of  etiquette  seemed  some- 
thing like  a  breach  of  orders  ;  hadn't  meant  to  charge  Coronado  with  drawing 
the  long  bow  ;  couldn't  help  coloring  about  it.  Didn't  think  much  of  Coronado, 
but  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  him,  as  being  four  years  older  in  time  and  a  dozen 
\     years  older  in  the  ways  of  the  world. 

"  I  only  meant  to  say,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  have  information  concerning 
the  Apaches  which  coincides  with  yours,  sir.  They  are  quiet,  at  least  for  the 
present.  Indeed,  I  understand  that  Red  Sleeve,  or  Manga  Colorada,  as  you  call 
him,  is  coming  in  with  his  band  to  make  a  treaty." 

"  Admirable  ! "  cried  Coronado.  "  Why  not  hire  him  to  guarantee  our  safety  ? 
Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief.  Why  does  not  your  Government  do  that  sort  of 
thing?  Let  the  Apaches  protect  the  emigrants,  and  the  United  States  pay  the 
Apaches.  They  would  be  the  cheapest  military  force  possible.  That  is  the  way 
the  Turks  manage  the  desert  Arabs." 

"  Mr.  Coronado,  you  ought  to  be  Governor  of  New  Mexico,"  said  Aunt  Maria, 
stricken  with  admiration  at  this  project. 

Thurstane  looked  at  the  two  as  if  he  considered  them  a  couple  of  fools,  each 
bigger  than  the  other.  Coronado  advanced  to  Mrs.  Stanley,  took  her  hand, 
bowed  over  it,  and  murmured,  "  Let  me  have  your  influence  at  Washington,  my 
dear  Madame."  The  remarkable  woman  squirmed  a  little,  fearing  lest  he  should 
kiss  her  fingers,  but  nevertheless  gave  him  a  gracious  smile. 

"It  strikes  me,  however,"  she  said,  "that  the  isthmus  route  is  better.  We 
know  by  experience  that  the  journey  from  here  to  Bent's  Fort  is  safe  and  easy. 
From  there  down  the  Arkansas  and  Missouri  to  St.  Louis  it  is  mostly  water  car- 
riage ;  and  from  St.  Louis  you  can  sail  anywhere." 

Coronado  was  alarmed.  He  must  put  a  stopper  on  this  project.  He  called 
up  all  his  resources. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Stanley,  allow  me.  Remember  that  emigrants  move  west- 
ward, and  not  eastward.  Coming  from  Bent's  Fort  you  had  protection  and  com- 
pany;  but  going  towards  it  would  be  different.  And  then  tliink  what  you  would 
lose.  The  great  American  desert,  as  it  is  absurdly  styled,  is  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting regions  on  earth.  Mrs.  Stanley,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Casas  Grandes, 
the  Casas  de  Montezuma,  the  ruined  cities  of  New  Mexico?  In  this  so-called 
desert  there  was  once  an  immense  population.  There  was  a  civilization  which 
rose,  flourished,  decayed,  and  disappeared  without  a  historian.  Nothing  remains 
of  it  but  the  walls  of  its  fortresses  and  palaces.  These  you  will  see.  They  are 
wonderful.  They  are  worth  ten  times  the  labor  and  danger  which  we  shall  en- 
counter. Buildings  eight  hundred  feet  long  I:)y  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  deep, 
Mrs.   Stanley.     The  resting-places  and  wayside  strongholds  of  tht-  Aztecs  on 


le  OVERLAND. 

their  route  from  the  frozen  North  to  found  the  Empire  of  tlie  Montezumas  !     This 
whole  region  is  strewn,  and  cumbered,  and  glorified  with  ruins.     If  we   should 

go  by  the  way  of  the  San  Juan " 

"The  San  Juan  !  "  protested  Thurstane.  "  Nobody  goes  by  the  way  of  the 
San  Juan." 

Coronado  stopped,  bowed,  smiled,  waited  to  see  if  Thurstane  had  finishedj 
and  then  proceeded. 

"  Along  the  San  Juan  every  hilltop  is  crowned  with  these  monuments  of  an- 
tiquity. It  is  like  the  castled  Rhine.  Ruins  looking  in  the  faces  of  ruins.  It  is 
a  tragedy  in  stone.  It  is  like  Niobe  and  her  daughters.  Moreover,  if  we  take 
this  route  we  shall  pass  the  Moquis.  The  independent  Moquis  are  a  fragment 
of  the  ancient  ruling  race  of  New  Mexico.  They  live  in  stone-built  cities  on 
lofty  eminences.  They  weave  blankets  of  exquisite  patterns  and  colors,  and 
produce  a  species  of  pottery  which  almost  deserves  the  name  of  porcelain." 

"Really,  you  ought  to  write  all  this,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria,  her  imagination 
fired  to  a  white  heat. 

"I  ought,"  said  Coronado,  impressively.  "  I  owe  it  to  these  people  to  cele- 
brate them  in  histor}-.  I  owe  them  that  much  because  of  the  name  I  bear.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  Coronado,  the  conqueror  of  New  Mexico,  the  stormer  of  the 
seven  cities  of  Cibola  t  It  was  he  who  gave  the  final  shock  to  this  antique  civil- 
ization. He  was  the  Cortes  of  this  portion  of  the  continent.  I  bear  his  name, 
and  his  blood  runs  in  my  veins. 

He  held  down  his  head  as  if  he  were  painfull}-  oppressed  by  the  sense  of  his 
crimes  and  responsibilities  as  a  descendant  of  the  waster  of  aboriginal  New 
Mexico.  Mrs.  Stanle}',  delighted  with  his  emotion,  slily  grasped  and  pressed 
his  hand. 
y  "Oh,  man!  man!"  she  groaned.  "What  evils  has  that  creature  man 
wrought  in  this  beautiful  world  !  Ah,  Mr.  Coronado,  it  would  have  been  a  very 
different  planet  had  woman  had  her  rightful  share  in  the  management  of  its 
affairs." 

"Undoubtedly,"  sighed  Coronado.  He  had  already  obtained  an  insight  into 
this  remarkable  person's  views  on  the  woman  question,  the  superiority  of  her 
own  sex,  the  stolidity  and  infamy  of  the  other.  It  was  worth  his  while  to  humor 
her  on  this  point,  for  the  sake  of  gaining  an  influence  over  her,  and  so  over 
Clara.     Cheered  by  the  success  of  his  history,  he  now  launched  into  pure  poetry. 

"  Woman  has  done  something,"  he  said.     "  There  is  every  reason  to  believe 
that  the  cities  of  tlie  San  Juan  were  ruled  by  queens,  and  that  some  of  them 
^were  inhabited  by  a  race  of  Amazons." 
^       "  Is  it  possible  .?"  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria,  flushing  and  rustling  with  interest. 

"  It  is  the  opinion  of  tlie  best  antiquarians.  It  is  my  opinion.  Nothing  else 
can  account  for  the  exquisite  earthenware  which  is  found  there.  Women,  you 
are  aware,  far  surpass  men  in  the  arts  of  beautv.  Moreover,  the  inscriptions  on 
hieroglyphic  rocks  in  these  abandoned  cities  evidently  refer  to  Amazons.  There 
you  see  them  doing  the  work  of  men — carrying  on  war,  ruling  conquered  regions, 
founding  cities.     It  is  a  picture  of  a  golden  age,  Mrs.  Stanley." 

Aunt  Maria  meant  to  go  by  way  of  the  San  Juan,  if  she  had  to  scalp  Apaches 
l^herself  in  doing  it. 

"  Lieutenant  Tliurstane,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  her  sparkling 
eyes  upon  the  officer. 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  never  heard  of  all  these  things,"  replied  TiiurstanCj 
with  an  air  wliich  added,  "And  I  don't  believe  in  most  of  them." 


OVERLAND.  I7 

"As  for  the  San  Juan  route,"  he  continued,  "it  is  two  hundred  miles  at  least 
Out  of  our  way.  The  country  is  a  desert  and  almost  unexplored.  I  dont  fancy 
the  plan — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Coronado — but  I  don't  fancy  it  at  all." 

Aunt  Maria  despised  him  and  almost  hated  him  for  his  stupid,  practical  un- 
poetic  common  sense. 

"  I  must  say  that  I  quite  fancy  the  San  Juan  route,"  she  responded,  with 
proper  firmness. 

"  1  venture  to  agree  with  you,"  said  Coronado,  as  meekly  as  if  her  fancy  were 
not  of  his  own  making.  "Only  a  hundred  miles  off  the  straight  line  (l)e"-"-incr 
your  pardon,  my  dear  Lieutenant),  and  through  a  country  which  is  naturally  fer- 
tile— witness  the  immense  population  which  it  once  supported.  As  for  its  bein<» 
unexplored,  I  have  explored  it  myself;  and  I  shall  go  with  you." 

"  Shall  you  !  "  cried  Aunt  Maria,  as  if  that  made  all  safe  and  delightful. 

"Yes.  My  excellent  Uncle  Garcia  (good,  kind-hearted  old  man)  takes  the 
strongest  interest  in  this  affair.  He  is  resolved  that  his  charming  little  relative 
here.  La  Sefiorita  Clara,  sh.ill  cross  the  continent  in  safety  and  comfort.  He  offers 
a  special  wagon  train  for  the  purpose,  and  insists  that  I  shall  accompany  it.  Ol 
course  I  am  only  too  delighted  to  obey  him." 

"Garcia  is  very  good,  and  so  are  you,  Coronado,"  said  Clara,  very  thankfuj 
and  profoundly  astonished.  "  How  can  I  ever  repay  you  both  .?  I  shall  alwavii 
be  your  debtor." 

"  My  dear  cousin  !  "  protested  Coronado,  bowing  and  smiling.  "  Well,  it  is 
settled.  We  will  start  as  soon  as  may  be.  The  train  will  be  ready  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"  I  have  no  money,"  stammered  Clara.     "The  estate  is  not  settled." 

"  Our  good  old  Garcia  has  thought  of  every  tiling.  He  will  advance  you  what 
yoi^want,  and  take  your  draft  on  the  executors." 

"Your  uncle  is  one  of  nature's  noblemen,"  affirmed  Aunt  ^LHria.     "I  must 
call  on  him  and  thank  him  for  his  goodness  and  generosity." 

"  Oh,  never !  "  said  Coronado.  "  He  only  waits  your  permission  to  visit  you 
and  pay  you  his  humble  respects.  Absence  has  prevented  him  from  attending 
to  that  delightful  duty  heretofore.    He  has  but  just  returned  from  Albuquerque." 

"Tell  him  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him,"  smiled  Aunt  Maria.  "  But  what  does 
he  say  of  the  San  Juan  route  ? " 

"He  advises  it.  He  has  been  in  the  overland  trade  for  thirty  years.  He 
is  tenderly  interested  in  his  relative  Clara;  and  he  advises  her  to  go  byway 
of  the  San  Juan." 

"  Then  so  it  shall  be,"  declared  Aunt  ^Laria. 

"  And  how  do  you  go.  Lieutenant  .? "  asked  Coronado,  turning  to  Thurstane. 

"  I  had  thought  of  travelling  with  you,"  was  the  answer,  delivered  with  a 
grave  and  troubled  air,  as  if  now  he  must  give  up  his  project. 

Coronado  was  delighted.  He  had  urged  the  northern  and  circuitous  route 
mainly  to  get  rid  of  the  officer,  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  latter  must  join  his 
new  command  as  soon  as  possible.  He  did  not  want  him  courting  Clara  all 
across  the  continent  ;  and  he  did  not  want  him  saving  her  from  being  lost,  if  it 
should  become  necessary  to  lose  her. 

"  I  earnestly  hope  that  we  shall  not  be  deprived  of  your  companv,"  he  said. 

Thurstane,  in  profound  thought,  simply  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  A  few 
minutes  later,  as  he  rose  to  return  to  his  quarters,  he  said,  with  an  air  of  solemn 
resolution,  "  If  I  can  possibly  go  with  you,  I  will.'" 

All  the  next  day  and  evening  Coronado  was  in  and  out  of  the  Van  Diemen 


18  OVERLAXD. 

house.  Had  there  been  a  mail  for  the  ladies,  he  woiiid  have  brought  it  to  them  ; 
had  it  contained  a  letter  from  California,  he  would  have  abstracted  and  burnt  it 
He  helped  them  pack  for  the  journey  ;  he  made  an  inventory  of  the  furniture 
and  found  storeroom  for  it ;  he  was  a  valet  and  a  spy  in  one.  Meantime  Garcia 
hurried  up  his  train,  and  hired  suitable  muleteers  for  the  animals  and  suitable 
assassins  for  the  travellers.  Thurstane  was  also  busy,  working  all  day  and  half 
of  the  night  over  his  government  accounts,  so  that  be  might  if  possible  get  off 
with  Cl:ira. 

Coronado  thouq:ht  of  making  interest  with  the  post-commandant  to  have 
Tliurstane  kept  a  few  days  in  Santa  Fe.  But  the  post-commandant  was  a  grim 
and  taciturn  old  major,  who  looked  him  through  and  througli  witli  a  pair  of  icy 
gray  eyes,  and  returned  brief  answers  to  his  musical  commonplaces.  Coronado 
did  not  see  how  lie  could  humbug  him,  and  concluded  not  to  try  it.  The  at- 
tempt might  excite  suspicion  ;  the  major  might  say,  "  How  is  this  your  business  ?  " 
So,  after  a  little  unimixirtant  tattle,  Coronado  made  his  best  bow  to  the  old  fel- 
low, and  hurried  off  to  oversee  his  so-called  cousin. 

Jn  the  evening  he  brouglit  Garcia  to  call  on  the  ladies.  Aunt  Maria  was 
-ralher  surprised  and  shocked  to  see  such  an  excellent  man  look  so  much  like  an 
linfaJljous  scoundrel.  "  But  good  people  are  always  plain,"  she  reasoned  ;  and  so 
she  was  as  cordial  to  him  as  one  can  be  in  English  to  a  saint  who  understands 
nothing  but  Spanisli.  Garcia,  instructed  by  Coronado,  could  not  bow  low  enough 
nor  smile  greasily  enough  at  Aunt  Maria,  His  dull  commonplaces,  moreover, 
were  tran^Idted  by  his  nepliew  into  flowering  compliments  for  the  lady  herself, 
and  enthusiastic  professions  of  faith  in  the  superior  intelligence  and  moral  worth 
of  all  women.  So  the  two  got  along  famously,  although  neither  ever  knew  what 
ihe  other  had  really  said. 

When  Clara  appeared,  Gircia  bowed  humbly  without  lifting  his  eyes  to  her 
face,  and  received  her  kiss  without  returning  it,  as  one  might  receive  the  kiss  of 
a  corpse.  • 

"  Contemptible  coward  !  "  thought  Coronado.  Then,  turning  to  Mrs.  Stanley, 
he  whispered,  "  My  uncle  is  almost  broken  down  with  this  parting." 

"  Excellent  creature  !"  murmured  Aunt  Maria,  surveying  the  old  toad  wdth 
warm  sympathy.  "  What  a  pity  he  has  lost  one  eye  !  It  quite  injures  the  benev- 
olent expression  of  his  foce." 

Although  Garcia  was  very  distantly  connected  with  Clara,  she  gave  him  the 
title  of  uncle. 

"  How  is  this,  my  uncle  ?  "  she  said,  gaily.  "You  send  your  merchandise 
trains  through  Bernalillo,  and  you  send  me  through  Santa  Anna  and  Rio  Arriba." 

Garcia,  cowed  and  confounded,  made  no  reply  that  was  comprehensible. 

"It  is  a  newly  discovered  route,"  put  in  Coronado,  "lately  found  to  be 
easier  and  safer  than  the  old  one.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  learning  tlie 
fact,  Mrs.  Stanley!  Just  as  we  were  two  hundred  and  tit'ty  years  without  dis- 
iCovering  the  gold  of  California." 

"Ah!"  said  Clara.  Absent  since  her  childliood  from  New  Mexico,  she 
knew  little  about  its  geography,  and  could  be  easily  deceived. 

After  a  while  Thurstane  entered,  out  of  breath  and  red  with  haste.  He  had 
■stolen  ten  minutes  from  his  accounts  and  stores  to  bring  I\Iiss  Van  Diemen  a 
piece  of  information  which  was  to  him  important  and  distressing. 

"I  fear  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  with  you,"  he  said.  "I  have  received 
orders  to  wait  for  a  sergeant  and  three  recruits  who  have  been  assigned  to  my 
company.     The  messenger  reports  that  they  are  on  the  march  from  Fort  Bent 


OVERLAND.  19 

with  an  emia;rant  train,  and  will  not  be  here  for  a  week.  It  annoys  me  horribly, 
Miss  \'an  Diemen.  I  tiioujilit  I  saw  my  way  clear  to  be  of  your  party.  I  as- 
sure you  I  earnestly  desired  it.  This  route— I  am  afraid  of  it— I  wanted  to  be 
with  you." 

"To  protect  me?"  queried  Clara,  her  face  liglitinj::  up  with  a  grateful  smile, 
so  innocent  and  frank  was  she.  Then  she  turned  grave  again,  and  added,  "  I 
am  sorry.'' 

Tliankful  for  tliese  last  words,  but  nevertheless  quite  miserable,  the  youngster 
worshipped  her  aiul  trembled  fur  her. 

This  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  a  quiet  tone,  so  that  the  others  of 
the  party  had  not  overheard  it,  not  even  the  watchful  Coronado. 

"  It  is  too  unfortunate,"  said  Clara,  turning  to  them.  "  Lieutenant  Thurstane 
cannot  go  with  us." 

Garcia  and  Coronado  exchanged  a  look  which  said,  "Thank— the  devil  1  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  next  day  brought  news  of  an  obstacle  to  the  march  of  the  wagon  train 
through  Santa  Anna  and  Rio  Arriba. 

It  was  reported  that  tlie  audacious  and  savage  Apaclie  chieftain,  Manga  Col- 
orada,  or  Red  Sleeve,  under  pretence  of  wanting  to  make  a  treaty  witii  the  Ameri- 
cans, had  approached  within  sixty  miles  of  Santa  F^  to  the  west,  and  camped 
there,  on  the  route  to  the  San  Juan  country,  not  making  treaties  at  ail,  but  sim- 
ply making  hot  beefsteaks  out  of  Mexican  cattle  and  cold  carcasses  out  of  Mexi- 
can rancheros. 

"  We  shall  have  to  get  those  fellows  off  that  trail  and  put  them  across  the 
Bernalillo  route,"  said  Coronado  to  Garcia. 

"  The  pigs  !  the  dogs  !  the  wicked  beasts  !  the  devils  !  "  barked  the  old 
man,  dancing  about  the  room  in  a  rage.  After  a  while  he  dropped  breathless 
into  a  chair  and  looked  eagerly  at  his  nephew  for  help. 

"  It  will  cost  at  least  another  thousand,"  observed  the  younger  man. 

"  You  have  had  two  thousand,"  shuddered  Garcia.  '"  You  were  to  do  the 
whole  accursed  job  with  that." 

"  I  did  not  count  on  Manga  Colorada.  Besides,  I  have  given  a  thousand  to 
our  little  cousin.  I  must  keep  a  thousand  to  meet  the  chances  that  may  come. 
There  are  men  to  be  bribed." 

Garcia  groaned,  hesitated,  decided,  went  to  some  hoard  which  he  had  put 
aside  for  great  needs,  counted  out  a  hundred  American  eagles,  toyed  with  them, 
wept  over  them,  and  brought  them  to  Coronado. 

"  Will  that  do  .?"  he  asked.     "  It  must  do.     There  is  no  more." 

"  I  will  try  with  that,"  said  the  nephew.  "  Now  let  me  have  a  few  good  men 
and  your  best  horses.     I  want  to  see  them  ail  before  I  trust  myself  with  them." 

Coronado  felt  himself  in  a  position  to  dictate,  and  it  was  curious  to  see  how 
quick  he  put  on  magisterial  airs  ;  he  was  one  of  those  who  enjoy  authority, 
though  little  and  brief. 

"  Accursed  beast !  "  thought  Garcia,  who  did  not  dare  just  now  to  break  out 
with  his  "pig,  dog,"  etc.  "He  wants  me  to  pay  everything.  The  thousand 
ought  to  be  enough  for  men  and  horses  and  all.  Why  not  poison  the  girl  at 
once,  and  save  all  this  money?  If  he  had  the  spirit  of  a  man  !  O  Madre  do 
Dios  '  Madre  de  Dios  I     What  extremities  .'  what  extremities  1 " 


ZO  OVERLAND. 

But  Garcia  was  like  a  good  many  of  us  ;  his  thoughts  were  worse  than  Iiis 
deeds  and  words.  While  he  was  cogitating  thus  savagely,  he  was  saying  aloud, 
"  My  son,  my  dear  Carlos,  come  and  choose  for  yourself." 

Turning  into  the  court  of  the  house,  they  strolled  through  a  medley  of  wag- 
ons, miAles,  horses,  merchandise,  muleteers,  teamsters,  idlers,  white  men  and 
Indians.  Coronado  soon  picked  out  a  couple  of  rancheros  whom  he  knew  as 
capital  riders,  fair  marksmen,  faithful  and  intelligent.  Next  his  eye  fell  upon  a 
man  in  Mexican  clothing,  almost  as  dark  and  dirty  too  as  the  ordinary  Mexican, 
but  whose  height,  size,  insolence  of  carriage,  and  ferocity  of  expression  marked 
him  as  of  another  and  more  pugnacious,  more  imperial  race. 

"  You  are  an  American,"  said  Coronado,  in  his  civil  manner,  for  he  had  two 
manners  as  opposite  as  the  poles. 

"  I  be,"  replied  the  stranger,  staring  at  Coronado  as  a  Lombard  or  Prankish 
warrior  might  have  stared  at  an  effeminate  and  diminutive  Roman. 

"  May  I  ask  what  your  name  is  .''  " 
f       "  Some  folks  call  me  Texas  Smith." 

Coronado  shifted  uneasily  on  his  feet,  as  a  man  might  shift  in  presence  of  a 
tiger,  who,  as  he  feared,  was  insufficiently  chained.  He  was  face  to  face  with  a 
fellow  who  was  as  much  the  terror  of  the  table-land,  from  the  borders  of  Texas 
to  California,  as  if  he  had  been  an  Apache  chief. 

This  noted  desperado,  although  not  more  than  twenty-six  or  seven  years  old, 
had  the  horrible  fame  of  a  score  of  murders.  His  appearance  mated  well  with 
his  frightful  history  and  reputation.  His  intensely  black  eyes,  blacker  evei> 
than  the  eyes  of  Coronado,  had  a  stare  of  absolutely  indescribable  ferocity.  It 
was  more  ferocious  than  the  merely  brutal  glare  of  a  tiger;  it  was  an  intentional 
malignity,  super-beastly  and  sub-human.  They  were  eyes  which  no  other  man 
ever  looked  into  and  afterward  forgot.  His  sunburnt,  sallow,  haggard,  ghastly 
face,  stained  early  and  for  life  with  the  corpse-like  coloring  of  malarious  fevers, 
was  a  fit  setting  for  such  optics.  Although  it  was  nearly  oval  in  contour,  and 
although  the  features  were  or  had  been  fairly  regular,  yet  it  was  so  marked  by 
hard,  and  one  might  almost  say  fleshless  muscles,  and  so  brutalized  by  long  in- 
dulgence in  savage  passions,  that  it  struck  you  as  frightfully  ugl)'.  A  large  dull- 
red  scar  on  the  right  jaw  and  another  across  the  left  cheek  added  the  final 
I    touches  to  this  countenance  of  a  cougar. 

"  He  is  my  man,"  whispered  Garcia  to  Coronado.  "  I  have  hired  him  for 
the  great  adventure.  Sixty  piastres  a  month.  Why  not  take  him  with  you  to- 
day ?  " 

Coronado  gave  another  glance  at  the  gladiator  and  meditated.  Should  he 
trust  this  beast  of  a  Texan  to  guard  him  agai  nst  those  other  beasts  the  Apaches  ? 
Well,  he  could  die  but  once  ;  this  whole  alTiir  was  detestably  risky  ;  he  must 
not  lose  time  in  shuddering  over  tlie  first  steps. 
P  "Mr.  Smith,"  he  said,  "very  glad  to  know  that  you  are  with  us.  Can  you 
start  in  an  hour  for  the  camp  of  Manga  Colorada  ?  Sixty  miles  there.  We 
must  be  back  by  to-morrow  night.     It  would  be  best  not  to  say  where  we  are 

Texas  Smith  nodded,  turned  abruptly  on  the  huge  heels  of  his  IMexican 
boots,  stalked  to  where  his  horse  was  fastened,  and  began  to  saddle  him. 

"  My  dear  uncle,  why  didn't  you  hire  the  devil  ?"  whispered  Coronado  as  be 
stared  after  the  cutthroat. 

"  Get  yourself  ready,  my  nephew,"  was  Garcia's  reply.  "  I  will  see  to  the 
men  and  horses.' 


OVERLAND.  21 

J  I'*,  an  hour  the  expedition  was  oiT  at  full  jjallop.     Coronado  had  laid  aside 

his  American  dandy  raiment,  and  was  in  the  fnll  costume  of  a  Mexican  of  the 
provinces — broad-brimmed  hat  of  wlute  straw,  blue  broadcloth  jacket  adorned 
with  numerous  small  silver  buttons,  velvet  vest  of  similar  splendor,  blue  trousers 
sla.'.ned  from  the  knee  downwards  and  j>;ay  wich  buttons,  hii;h,  loose  embroidered 
boots  of  crimson  leather,  long  steel  spurs  jingling  and  shining.  The  cliange  be- 
came him;  he  seemed  a  larger  and  handsomer  man  for  it;  he  looked  the  cabal- 
)     lero  and  almost  the  hidalgo. 

Three  hours  took  the  p.uty  thirty  miles  to  a  hacienda  of  Garcia's,  wliere  tliey 
changed  horses,  leaving  their  first  mounting  for  thd  return.  After  half  an  hour 
for  dinner,  they  pushed  on  again,  always  at  a  gallop,  the  hoofs  clattering  over 
the  hard,  yellow,  sunbaked  earth,  or  dashing  recklessly  along  smooth  sheets  of 
rock,  or  through  fields  of  loose,  slippery  stones.  Rare  halts  to  breathe  the  ani- 
mals ;  then  the  steady,  tearing  gallop  again  ;  no  walking  or  other  leisurely  gait. 
r^Coronado  led  the  way  and  hastened  the  pace.  There  was  no  tiring  him  ;  his 
thin,  sinewy,  sun-hardened  frame  could  bear  enormous  fatigue  ;  moreover,  the 
saddle  was  so  familiar  to  him  that  he  almost  reposed  in  it.  If  he  had  needed 
physical  support,  he  would  have  found  it  in  his  mental  energy.  He  was  capa- 
ble of  that  executive  furor,  that  intense  passion  of  exertion,  which  the  man  of 
Latin  race  can  exhibit  wlien  he  has  once  fairly  set  himself  to  an  enterprise.  He 
was  of  the  breed  which  in  nobler  days  had  produced  Gonsalvo,  Cortes,  Pizarro, 
(_and  Darien. 

These  riders  had  set  out  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning;  at  five  in  tlie  after- 
noon they  drew  bridle  in  siglit  of  the  Apache  encampment.  They  were  on  the 
brow  of  a  stony  hill :  a  pile  of  bare,  grav,  glaring,  treeless,  herbless  layers  of 
rock  ;  a  pyramid  truncated  near  its  base,  but  still  of  majestic  altitude;  one  of 
the  pyramids  of  nature  in  that  region  ;  in  short,  a  butte.  Below  them  lay  a  val- 
r  ley  of  six  or  eight  miles  in  length  by  one  or  two  in  breadth,  through  tlie  centre  of 
which  a  rivulet  had  drawn  a  paradise  of  verdure.  In  the  middle  of  the  valley,  at 
the  head  of  a  bend  in  the  rivulet,  was  a  camp  of  human  brutes.  It  was  a  bivouac 
rather  than  a  camp.  The  large  tents  of  bison  hide  used  by  the  northern  Indians 
are  unknown  to  the  Apaches  ;  they  have  not  the  bison,  and  they  have  less  need 
of  shelter  in  winter.  What  Coron  ido  saw  at  this  distance  was,  a  few  huts  of 
tranches,  a  strolling  of  many  horses,  and  some  scvttered  riders. 

Texas  Smith  gave  him  a  glance  of  inquiry  which  said,  "  Shall  we  go  ahead^ 
jr  fire  ?  " 

Coronado  spurred  his  horse  down  the  rough,  disjointed,  slippery  declivity, 
*nd  the  others  followed.  They  were  soon  perceived  ;  the  Apache  swarm  was 
instantly  in  a  buzz  ;  horses  were  saddled  and  mounted,  or  mounted  without  sad- 
dling ;  there  was  a  consultation,  and  then  a  wild  dash  toward  the  travellers.  As 
the  two  parties  neared  each  other  at  a  gallop,  Coronado  rode  to  tlie  front  of  his 
Bquad,  waving  his  sombrero.  An  Indian  who  wore  the  dress  of  a  Mexican  ca- 
ballero,  jacket,  loose  trousers,  hat,  and  boots,  spurred  in  like  manner  to  the  front, 
gestured  to  his  followers  to  halt,  brought  his  horse  to  a  walk,  and  slowly  ap- 
proached the  white  man.  Coronado  made  a  sign  to  show  that  his  pistols  were 
in  his  holsters  ;  and  the  Apache  responded  by  dropping  his  lance  and  slinging 
his  bow  over  itis  shoulder.  The  two  met  midway  between  the  two  squads  of 
1     staring,  silent  horsemen. 

"  Is  it  Manga  Colorada  ?"  asked  the  Mexican,  in  Spanish. 

*'  Manga  Colorada,"  replied  the  Apache,  his  long,  dark,  haggard,  savage  face 
lighting  up  for  a  moment  with  a  smile  of  gratified  vanity. 

"  I  come  in  peace,  then,"  said  Coronado.    "  I  want  your  help  ;  I  will  pay  for  it  • 


22  OVERLAND 

In  our  account  of  tliis  interview  we  shall  translate  the  broken  Spnnish  of  tha 
Indian  into  ordinary  English. 

"Manga  Colorada  will  help,"  he  said,  "  if  the  pay  is  good." 

Even  during  this  short  dialogue  the  Apaches  had  with  difficulty  restrained 
their  curiosity;  and  their  little  wiry  horses  were  now  caracoling,  rearing,  and 
plunging  in  close  proximity  to  the  two  speakers. 

"We  will  talk  of  this  by  ourselves,"  said  Coronado.  "Let  us  go  to  your 
camp." 
r~  The  conjoint  movement  of  the  leaders  toward  tlie  Indian  bivouac  was  a  sig- 
nal for  their  followers  to  mingle  and  exchange  greetings.  The  adventurers  were 
enveloped  and  very  nearly  ridden  down  by  over  two  hundred  ])rancing,  scream- 
ing horsemen,  shouting  to  their  visitors  in  their  own  guttural  tongue  or  in  broken 
Spanish,  and  enforcing  their  wild  speech  with  vehement  gestures.  It  was  a 
pandemonium  which  horribly  frightened  the  Mexican  rancheros,  and  made  Coro- 
nado's  dark  cheek  turn  to  an  ashy  yellow. 

The  civilized  imagination  can  hardly  conceive  such  a  tableau  of  .savagery  as 
that  presented  by  these  Arabs  of  the  great  American  desert.  Arabs  !  The 
similitude  is  a  calumny  on  the  descendants  of  Ishmael  ;  the  fiercest  Bedouin 
are  refined  and  mild  compared  with  the  Apaches.  Even  the  brutal  and  a-iminal 
classes  of  civilization,  the  pugilists,  rough.s,  burgl.'.rs,  and  pickix)ckets  of  our 
large  cities,  the  men  whose  daily  life  is  rebellion  against  conscience,  command- 
ment, and  justice,  offer  a  gentler  and  nobler  type  of  character  and  expves.sion 
than  these  "children  of  nature."  There  was  hardly  a  face  among  that  gang  of 
wild  riders  which  did  not  outdo  the  face  of  Texas  Smith  in  degraded  ferocity. 
^Almost  every  man  and  boy  was  obviously  a  liar,  a  thief,  and  a  murderer.  The 
air  of  beastly  cruelty  was  made  even  more  h.iteful  by  an  air  of  beastly  cunning. 
Taking  color,  brutality,  grotesqueness,  and  filth  together,  it  seemed  as  if  here 
were  a  mob  of  those  malignant  and  ill-favored  devils  whom  Dante  has  described 
and  the  art  of  his  age  has  painted  and  sculptured. 

It  is  possible,  by  the  way,  that  this  apjjearance  of  moral  \>gliness  was  due  in 
part  to  the  physical  ugliness  of  features,  which  were  nearly  without  exception 
coarse,  irregular,  exaggerated,  grotesque,  and  in  some  cases  more  like  hideous 
masks  than  like  faces. 

Ferocitv  of  expression  was  further  enhanced  by  poverty  and  squalor.  The 
mass  of  this  fierce  cavalry  was  wretchedly  clothed  and  disgustingly  dirty.  Even 
the  showy  Mexican  costume  of  Manga  Colorada  was  ripped,  frayed,  stained  with 
grease  and  perspiration,  and  not  free  from  sombre  spots  which  looked  like  blood. 
Every  one  wore  the  breech-cloth,  in  some  cases  nicely  fitted  and  sewed,  in  others 
nothing  but  a  shapeless  piece  of  deerskin  tied  on  anyhow.  There  were  a  few, 
either  minor  chiefs,  or  leading  braves,  or  professional  dandies  (for  this  class  ex- 
ists among  the  Indians),  who  sported  something  like  a  full  Apache  costume, 
consisting  of  a  helmet-shaped  cap  with  a  plume  of  feathers,  a  blanket  or  serape 
flying  loose  from  the  shoulders,  a  .shirt  and  breech-cloth,  and  a  pair  of  long  boots, 
made  large  and  loose  in  the  Mexican  style  and  showy  with  dyeing  and  embroi- 
dery. These  boots,  very  necessary  to  men  who  must  ride  through  thorns  and 
bushes,  were  either  drawn  up  so  as  to  cover  the  thighs  or  turned  over  from  the 
knee  downward,  like  the  leg-covering  of  Rupert's  cavaliers.  Many  heads  were 
bare,  or  merely  shielded  by  wreaths  of  grasses  and  leaves,  the  greenery  contrast- 
ing fantastically  with  the  unkempt  hair  and  fierce  faces,  but  producing  at  a  dis- 
tance an  eiTect  which  was  not  without  sylvan  grace. 

The  only  weapons  were  iron-tipped  lances  eight  or  nine  feet  Jong,  thick  and 


OVERLAND.  23 

stronw  bows  of  three  or  three  and  a  half  feet,  and  quivers  of  arrows  slung  across 
the  thigh  or  over  the  siioulder.  The  Apaches  ma!<e  little  use  of  firearms,  being 
too  lazy  or  too  stupid  to  keep  them  in  order,  and  finding  it  difficult  to  get  ammu- 
nition. But  so  long  as  tliey  have  to  figlit  only  the  unwarlil^e  Mexicans,  they  are 
none  the  worse  for  this  lack.  Tiie  Me.xicatis  fly  at  the  first  yell  ;  the  Apaches 
ride  after  them  and  lance  them  in  llie  back  ;  clumsy  escopetos  drop  loaded  from 
tiie  hands  of  d\ing  cowards.  Such  are  tlie  battles  of  New  Mexico.  It  is  only 
wlien  these  red-skinned  Tartars  meet  Americans  or  such  high-spirited  Indians 
as  the  Opates  that  tliey  have  to  recoil  before  gunpowder.* 

The  fact  that  Coronado  dared  ride  into  tlds  camp  of  thieving  assassins  shows 

what  risks  he  could  force  himself  to  run  when  he  thought  it  necessary.     He  was 

not  physically  a  very  brave  man  ;  he  had  no  pugnacity  and  no  adventurous  love 

of  danger  for  its  own  sake  ;  but  when  he  was  resolved  on  an  enterprise,  he  could 

2_^go  through  with  it. 

There  was  a  rest  of  several  hours.  The  rancheros  fed  the  iiorses  on  corn 
which  they  had  brought  in  small  sacks.  Texas  .Smith  kept  watch,  suffered  no 
Ap.ache  to  touch  iiim,  had  his  pistols  always  cocked,  and  stood  ready  to  sell  life 
at  the  highest  price.  Coronado  walked  deliberately  to  a  retired  spot  with  Manga 
C  Colorada,  Delgadito,  and  two  other  chiefs,  and  made  known  his  propositions. 
What  he  desired  was  that  the  Apaches  should  quit  their  present  post  imme- 
diately, perform  a  forced  march  of  a  hundred  and  forty  miles  or  so  to  the  south- 
west, place  themselves  across  the  overland  trail  through  Bernalillo,  and  do  some- 
thing to  alarm  people.  No  great  harm  ;  be  did  not  want  men  murdered  nor 
bouses  burned;  they  might  eat  a  few  cattle,  if  they  were  hungry:  there  were 
plenty  of  cattle,  and  Apaches  must  live.  And  if  they  should  yell  at  a  train  or 
so  and  stampede  the  loose  nuiles,  he  had  no  objection.  But  no  slaughtering; 
be  wanted  them  to  be  merciful :  just  make  a  pretence  of  harrying  in  Bernalillo  ; 
nothing  more. 

The  chiefs  turned  their  ill-favored  counten^nces  on  each  other,  and  talked  for 
a  while  in  their  own  language.  Then,  looking  at  Coronado,  they  grunted,  nodded, 
aad  sat  in  silence,  waiting  for  his  terms. 

"Send  that  boy  away,"  said  the  Mexican,  pointing  to  a  youth  of  twelve  or 
fourteen,  better  dressed  than  most  Apache  urchins,  who  had  joined  the  little  circle. 

"  It  is  my  son,"  replied  Manga  Colorada.     "  He  is  learning  to  be  a  chief." 

The  boy  stood  upright,  facing  the  group  with  dignity,  a  handsomer  youth 
than  is  often  seen  among  his  people.  Coronado,  who  had  something  of  the  ar- 
tist in  him,  was  so  interested  in  noting  the  lad's  regular  features  and  tragic  firm- 
ness of  expression,  that  for  a  moment  he  forgot  his  projects.  Manga  Colorada, 
mistaking  the  cause  of  his  silence,  encouraged  him  to  proceed. 

"  My  son  does  not  speak  Spanish,"  he  said.     "  He  will  not  understand." 

"You  know  what  money  is  ?"  inquired  the  Mexican. 

"  Yes,  we  know,"  grunted  the  chief. 

"You  can  buy  clothes  and  arms  with  it  in  the  villages,  and  aguardiente.' 

Another  grunt  of  assent  and  satisfaction. 

"Three  hundred  piastres,"  said  Coronado, 

The  chiefs  consulted  in  their  own  tongue,  and  then  replied,  "  The  way  is  long. 

"  How  much  ?  " 

Manga  Colorada  held  up  five  fingers. 

"  Five  hundred  .-• ' 

A  unanimous  grunt.  I 

"It  is  all  I  have,"  said  Coronado. 

The  chiefs  made  no  reply.  >^^ 

•  Since  those  times  the  AnacTies  have  lenrred  to  ii<:c  firearms. 


24  OVERLAND. 

Coronado  rose,  walked  to  his  horse,  took  two  small  packages  out  of  his  sad- 
dle-bags and  slipped  them  slily  into  his  boots,  and  then  carried  the  bags  to  where 
the  chiefs  sat  in  council.  There  he  held  them  up  and  rolled  out  five  rouleaux, 
each  containing  a  hundred  Mexican  dollars.  The  Indians  tore  open  the  enve- 
lopes, stared  at  the  broad  pieces,  fingered  them,  jingled  them  together,  and  ut- 
tered grunts  of  amazement  and  joy.  Probably  they  had  never  before  seen  so 
much  money,  at  least  not  in  their  own  possession.  Coronado  was  hardly  less 
content ;  for  while  he  had  received  a  thousand  dollars  to  bring  about  this  under- 
standing, he  had  risked  but  seven  hundred  with  him,  and  of  these  he  had  saved 
two  hundred. 

Four  hours  later  the  camp  had  vanished,  and  the  Indians  were  on  their  way 
toward  the  southwest,  the  moonlight  showing  their  irregular  column  of  march, 
and  glinting  faintly  from  the  heads  of  their  lances. 

At  nine  or  ten  in  the  evening,  when  every  Apache  had  disappeared,  and  the 
clatter  of  ponies  had  gone  far  away  into  tlie  quiet  night,  Coronado  lay  down  to 
rest.  He  would  have  started  homeward,  but  the  country  was  a  complete  desert, 
the  trail  led  here  and  there  over  vast  sheets  of  trackless  rock,  and  he  feared  that 
he  might  lose  his  way.  Texas  Smith  and  one  of  the  rancheros  had  ridden  after 
the  Apaches  to  see  whether  they  kept  the  direction  which  had  been  agreed  upon. 
One  ranchero  was  slumbering  already,  and  the  third  crouched  as  sentinel. 

Coronado  could  not  sleep  at  once.  He  thought  over  his  enterprise,  cross- 
examined  his  chances  of  success,  studied  the  invisible  courses  of  the  future. 
Leave  Clara  on  tlie  plains,  to  be  butchered  by  Indians,  or  to  die  of  starvation  ? 
He  hardly  considered  the  idea  ;  it  was  horrible  and  repulsive  ;  better  marr)'  her. 
If  necessary,  force  her  into  a  marriage ;  he  could  bring  it  about  somehow ;  she 
would  be  much  in  his  power.  Well,  he  had  got  rid  of  Thurstane  ;  that  was  a 
great  obstacle  removed.  Probabl}-,  that  fellow  being  out  of  sight,  he,  Coronado, 
could  soon  eclipse  him  in  the  girl's  estimation.  There  would  be  no  need  of  vio- 
lence ;  all  would  go  easily  and  end  in  prosperity.  Garcia  would  be  furious  at 
the  marriage,  but  Garcia  was  a  fool  to  expect  any  other  result. 

However,  here  he  was,  just  at  the  beginning  of  things,  and  by  no  means  safe 
»roni  danger.  He  had  two  hundred  dollars  in  his  boot-legs.  Had  his  rancheros 
"-uspected  it  ?  Would  they  murder  him  for  the  money  ?  He  hoped  not ;  he  just 
faintly  hoped  not ;  for  he  was  becoming  very  sleepy  ;  he  was  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  noise,  or  perhaps  it  was  a  touch,  he  scarcely  knew 
■A'hat.  He  struggled  as  fiercely  and  vainl);as  one  who  fights  against  a  nightmare. 
A  dark  form  was  over  him,  a  hard  knee  was  on  his  breast,  hard  knuckles  were 
at  his  throat,  an  arm  was  raised  to  strike,  a  weapon  was  gleaming. 

On  the  threshold  of  his  enterprise,  after  he  had  taken  its  first  hazardous  step 
with  safety  and  success,  Coronado  found  himself  at  the  point  of  death. 


CHAPTER  V. 

When  Coronado  regained  a  portion  of  the  senses  which  liad  been  throttled 
out  of  him,  he  discovered  Texas  Smith  standing  l^y  his  side,  and  two  dead  men 
lying  near,  all  rather  vaguely  seen  at  first  through  his  dizziness  and  the  moon- 
light. 

"What  does  tliis  mean  ?"  he  gasped,  getting  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
then  on  his  feet.    "  Who  has  been  assassinating  ?  " 

The  borderer,  who,  instead  of  helping  his  employer  to  rise,  was  coolly  re- 


OVERLAND.  25 

loading  his  rifle,  did  not  immediately  reply.  As  the  shaken  and  somewhat  un- 
nanned  Coronatio  looked  at  him,  he  was  afraid  of  him.  The  moonlight  made 
Smith's  sallow,  disfigured  face  so  much  more  ghastly  than  usual,  that  he  had 
the  air  of  a  ghoul  or  vampyre.  And  when,  after  carefully  capping  his  piece,  he 
drawled  forth  the  word  "  Patchies,"  his  harsh,  croaking  voice  had  an  unwhole- 
some, unhuman  sound,  as  if  it  were  indeed  the  utterance  of  a  feeder  upon 
corpses, 
r"       "Apaches!"  said  Coronado.    "Wliat!  after  I  had  made  a  tre.ity  with  them  P*^ 

"This  un  is  a  'Patchie,"  remarked  Texas,  giving  tiie  nearest  body  a  sliove 

with  his  boot.     "  Thar  was  two  of 'em.     Tiiey  knifed  one  of  your  men.     T'other 

cleared,  he  did.     I  was  comin'   in  afoot.     I  had  a  notion  of  suthin'  goirx'  on,  'n' 

left  the  critters  out  thar,  with  the  rancheros,  'n'  stole  in.     Got  in  just  in  time  to 

\ pop  the  cuss  that  hail  you.     T'other  un  vamosed." 

"  Oh,  the  villains  !  "  shrieked  Coronado,  excited  at  the  thought  of  his  narrow 
escape.     "This  is  the  way  they  keep  their  treaties." 

"  Mought  be  these  a'n't  the  same,"  observed  Texas.  "  Some 'Patchies  is 
wild,  'n'  live  separate,  like  bachelor  beavers.'-' 
I  Coronado  stooped  and  examined  the  dead  Indian.  He  was  a  miserable  ob- 
ject, naked,  except  a  ragged,  tiithy  breech-clout,  his  figure  gaunt,  and  his  legs 
absolutely  scaly  with  dirt,  starvation,  and  hard  living  of  all  sorts.  He  might 
well  be  one  of  those  outcasts  who  are  in  disfavor  with  their  savage  brethren,  lead 
a  precarious  existence  outside  of  the  tribal  organization,  and  are  to  the  Apaches 
what  the  Texas  Smiths  are  to  decent  Americans. 

"One  of  the  bachelor-beaver  sort,  you  bet,"  continued  Texas.     "  Don't  run 
L-    with  the  rest  of  the  crowd." 

"And  there's  that  infernal  coward  of  a  ranchero,"  cried  Coronado,  as  the 
runaway  sentry  sneaked  back  to  the  group.  "You  cursed  poltroon,  why  didn't 
you  give  tlie  alarm  ?    Why  didn't  you  figlit  ?  " 

He  struck  the  man,  pulled  his  long  hair,  threw  him  down,  kicked  him,  and 
spat  on  him.  Texas  Smith  looked  on  with  an  approving  grin,  and  suggested, 
'  Better  shute  the  dam  cuss." 

But  Coronado  was  not  bloodthirsty;  having  vented  his  spite,  he  let  the  fel- 
ow  go.  "  You  saved  my  life,"  he  said  to  Texas.  "  When  we  get  back  you 
shall  be  paid  for  it." 

At  the  moment  he  intended  to  present  him  with  the  two  hundred  dollars 
which  were  cumbering  his  boots.  But  by  the  time  they  had  reached  Garcia's 
hacienda  on  the  way  back  to  Sante  F6,  his  gratitude  had  fallen  off  seventy-five 
per  cent.,  and  he  thought  fifty  enough.  Even  that  diminished  his  profits  on  the 
expedition  to  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  And  Coronado,  although  extrava- 
gant, was  not  generous  ;  he  liked  to  spend  money,  but  he  hated  to  give  it  or  pay  it. 

During  the  four  days  which  immediately  followed  his  safe  return  to  Santa  F^, 
he  and  Garcia  were  in  a  worry  of  anxiety.  Would  Manga  Colorada  tulhl  his 
contract  and  cast  a  shadow  of  peril  over  the  Bernalillo  route  ?  Would  letters  or 
messengers  arrive  from  California,  in.^'orming  Clara  of  the  death  and  will  of  Mu- 
noz  ?  Everything  happened  as  they  wished  ;  reports  came  that  the  Apaches 
were  raiding  in  Bernalillo  ;  the  girl  received  no  news  concerning  her  grandfather. 
Coronado,  smiling  with  success  and  hope,  met  Thurstane  at  the  Van  Diem  en 
bouse,  in  the  presence  of  Clara  and  Aunt  Maria,  and  blandly  triumphed  over  hi  n. 

"How  now  about  your  safe  road  through  the  southern  counties.-"'  he  sadi 
'  Apaches  !" 

"So  I  hear,"  replied  the  young  officer  soberly.     "It  is  horribly  unlucky." 


26  OVERLAND. 

"We  start  to-morrow,"  added  Coronado. 

"To-morrow  !"  repl.ed  Thurstane,  with  a  look  of  dismay. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  with  us,"  said  Coronado. 

"Everything  goes  wrong,"  exclaimed  th^'  annoyed  lieutenant.  "  Here  ar« 
some  of  my  stores  damaged,  and  1  have  had  to  ask  for  a  board  of  survey.  I 
couldn't  possibly  leave  for  two  days  yet,  even  if  my  recruits  should  arrive." 

"  How  very  unfortunate  ! "  groaned  Coronado.  "  My  dear  fellow,  we  had 
counted  on  you." 

"  Lieutenant  Thurstane,  can't  you  overtake  us  ?"  inquired  Clara. 

Thurstane  wanted  to  kneel  down  and  tiiank  her,  while  Coronado  wanted  to 
throw  sometiiing  at  her. 

"  I  will  try,"  promised  the  ofificer,  his  fine,  frank,  manly  face  brightening  with 
pleasure.     "  If  the  thing  can  be  done,  it  will  be  done." 

Coronado,  while  hoping  that  he  would  be  ordered  by  the  southern  route,  or 
that  he  would  somehow  break  his  neck,  had  the  superfine  brass  to  say,  "  Don't 
fail  us,  Lieutenant." 

In  spite  of  the  managements  of  the  Mexican  to  keep  Clara  and  Thurstane 
apart,  the  latter  succeeded  in  getting  an  aside  with  the  young  lady. 

"So  you  take  the  northern  trail  ?"  he  said,  with  a  seriousness  which  gave  his 
blue-black  eyes  an  expression  of  almost  painful  pathos.  Those  eyes  were  trai- 
tors ;  however  discreet  the  rest  of  his  face  might  be,  they  revealed  his  feelings  ; 
they  were  altogether  too  pathetic  to  be  in  the  head  of  a  man  and  an  officer. 

"But  you  will  overtake  us,"  Clara  replied,  out  of  a  charming  faith  that  with 
men  all  things  are  possible. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Besides,  Coronado  knows,"  she  added,  still  trusting  in  the  male  being. 
"He  says  this  is  the  surest  road." 

Thurstane  did  not  believe  it,  but  he  did  not  want  to  alarm  her  when  alarm 
was  useless,  and  he  made  no  comment. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  resign,"  he  presently  broke  out. 

Clara  colored  ;  she  did  not  fully  understand  him,  but  she  guessed  that  all 
this  emotion  was  somehow  on  her  account;  and  a  surprised,  warm  Spanish 
heart  beat  at  once  its  alarm. 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,"  he  immediately  added.  "  I  couldn't  get  away  until 
my  resignation  had  been  accepted.     I  must  bear  this  as  well  as  I  can." 

The  young  lady  began  to  like  him  better  than  ever  before,  and  yet  she  began 
to  draw  gently  away  from  him,  frightened  by  a  consciousness  of  her  liking. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Van  Diemen,"  said  Thurstane,  in  an  inexplicable 
cont'usion. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  replied  Clara,  equally  confused. 

"  Well,"  he  resumed,  after  a  struggle  to  regain  his  self-control,  "  I  will  do  ray 
utmost  to  overtake  you." 

"  We  shall  be  very  glad,"  returned  Clara,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  con- 
sciousness and  artlessness. 

There  was  an  exquisite  innocence  and  almost  childish  simplicity  in  this  girl 
of  eighteen.  It  was,  so  to  speak,  not  quite  civilized  ;  it  was  not  in  the  style  of 
American  young  ladies  ;  our  officer  had  never,  at  home,  observed  anything  like 
it ;  and,  of  course — O  yes,  of  course,  it  fascinated  him.  The  truth  is,  he  was  so 
far  gone  in  loving  her  that  he  would  have  been  charmed  by  her  ways  no  matter 
what  they  might  have  been. 

On  the  very  morning  at'ter  the  above  dialogue  Garcia's  train  started  for  Rio 


OVERLAND.  27 

Arriba,  taking  with  it  a  girl  who  had  been  singled  out  for  a  marriage  which  she 
did  not  guess,  or  for  a  death  whose  horrors  were  beyond  her  wildest  fears. 

Tiie  train  consisted  of  six  long  and  heavy  covered  vehicles,  not  dissimilar  in 
size,  strength,  and  build  to  army  wagons.  Garcia  had  thought  that  two  would 
suffice  ;  si.\  wagons,  with  their  mules,  etc..  were  a  small  fortune  :  what  if  the 
Apaches  should  take  them  .-'  But  Coronado  had  replied  :  "  Nobody  sends  a  train 
ol  two  wagons  ;  do  you  want  to  rouse  suspicion  ? " 

So  there  were  si.\  ;  and  each  had  a  driver  and  a  muleteer,  making  twelve 
hired  men  thus  far.  On  horseback,  there  were  si-x  Mexicans,  nominally  cattle- 
drivers  going  to  California,  but  really  guards  fur  tlie  expedition — the  most  cour- 
ageous bullies  tliat  could  be  picked  up  in  Santa  Fe,  each  armed  with  pistols  and 
a  rifle.  Finally,  there  were  Coronado  and  his  terrible  henchman,  Texas  Smith, 
with  tiieir  rifles  and  revolvers.  Old  Garcia  perspired  witii  anguish  as  he  looked 
over  his  caravan,  and  figured  up  tlie  cost  in  his  head. 

Tluustane,  wretched  at  heart,  but  witii  a  cheering  smile  on  his  lips,  came  to 
bid  the  ladies  farewell. 

"  Wiiat  do  you  think  of  this  ?"  Aunt  Maria  called  to  him  from  her  seat  in  one 
of  the  covered  wagons.  "We  are  going  a  thousand  miles  through  deserts  and 
savages.    You  men  suppose  that  women  have  no  courage.     I  call  this  heroism." 

'"Certainly,"  nodded  the  young  fellow,  not  thinking  of  her  at  all,  unless  it 
was  that  she  was  next  door  to  an  idiot. 

Although  his  mind  was  so  full  of  Clara  that  it  did  not  seem  as  if  lie  could  re- 
ceive an  impression  from  any  other  human  being,  his  attention  was  for  a  mo- 
ment arrested  i)y  a  countenance  which  struck  him  as  being  more  ferocious  than 
he  had  ever  seen  before  except  on  the  shoulders  of  an  Apache.  A  tall  man  in 
Mexican  costume,  with  a  scar  on  his  chin  and  anotiier  on  his  cheek,  was  glaring 
at  him  with  two  intensely  black  and  savage  eyes.  It  was  Texas  Smith,  taking 
the  measure  of  Thurstane's  fighting  power  and  disposition.  A  hint  from  Coro- 
nado had  warned  the  borderer  that  here  was  a  person  whom  it  might  be  neces- 
sary some  day  to  get  rid  of  The  officer  responded  to  tliis  ferocious  gaze  with  a 
grim,  imperious  stare,  such  as  one  is  apt  to  acquire  amid  the  responsibilities  and 
dangers  of  army  life.     It  was  like  a  wolf  and  a  mastiff  surveying  each   other. 

Tlnirstane  advanced  to  Clara,  helped  her  into  her  saddle,  and  held  her  hand 
while  he  urged  her  to  be  careful  of  herself,  never  to  wander  from  the  train,  never 
to  be  alone,  etc.  The  girl  turned  a  little  pale  ;  it  was  not  exactly  because  of  his 
anxious  manner  ;  it  was  because  of  tlie  eloquence  that  there  is  in  a  word  of 
parting.  At  the  moment  she  felt  so  alone  in  the  world,  in  such  womanish  need 
of  sympathy,  that  had  he  wliispered  to  her,  "Be  my  wife,"  she  mi^ht  have 
reached  out  her  hands  to  him.  But  Thurstane  was  far  from  guessing  tliat  an  an- 
gel could  have  such  weak  impulses  ;  and  he  no  more  thought  of  proposing  to  hjT 
thus  abruptly  than  of  ascending  off-hand  into  heaven. 

Coronado  observed  the  scene,  and  guessing  how  perilous  the  moment  was, 
pushed  forward  his  uncle  to  saygood-by  to  Clara.  The  old  scoundrel  kissed  her 
hand  ;  he  did  not  dare  to  lift  his  one  eye  to  her  face  ;  he  kissed  her  hand  and 
bowed  himself  out  of  reach. 

"Farewell.  Mr.  Garcia,"  called  Aunt  Maria.  "  Poor,  excellent  old  creature  ! 
What  a  pity  he  can't  understand  English  !  I  should  so  like  to  say  something 
nice  to  him.     Farewell,  Mr.  Garcia."  ^ 

Garcia  kissed  his  fat  fingers  to  her,  took  off  his  sombrero,  waved  it,  bowed  a 
dozen  times,  and  smiled  like  a  scared  devil.  Then,  with  other  good-bys,  deliv- 
ered  right   and   left,  from  everybody  to   everybody,    the  train  rumljled   away. 


28  OVERL.'vNB. 

Tliurslane  wns  about  to  accompany  it  out  of  the  town  when  his  clerk  came  tc 
tell  him  that  the  board  of  survey  required  his  immediate  presence.  Cursing  liis 
hard  fate,  and  wishing  himself  anything  but  an  officer  in  tlie  army,  he  waved  a 
last  farewell  to  Clara,  and  turned  his  back  on  her,  perhaps  forever. 

j  Santa  Fe  is  situated  on  the  great  central  plateau  of  North  America,  seven 

thousand  feet  above  tlie  level  of  the  sea.  Around  it  spreads  an  arid  plain,  slop- 
ing slightly  where  it  approaches  the  Rio  Grande,  and  bordered  by  mountains 
whi:h  toward  the  south  are  of  moderal'e  height,  while  toward  the  north  they  rist 
into  fine  peaks,  glorious  with  eternal  snow.  Although  the  city  is  in  the  latitude 
of  Albemarle  Sound,  North  Carolina,  iis  elevation  and  its  neighborhood  to  Alpine 

L_ ranges  give  it  a  climate  which  is  in  the  main  cool,  equable,  and  healtliy. 

The  expedition  moved  across  the  plain  in  a  southwesterly  direction.  Coro- 
nado's  intention  was  to  cross  the  Rio  Grande  at  Pena  BLinca,  skirt  the  southern 
edge  of  the  Jemez  Mountains,  reach  San  Isidoro,  and  then  march  northward 
toward  tlie  San  Juan  region.  The  wagons  were  well  fitted  out  with  mules,  and 
as  Garcia  had  not  cliosen  to  send  much  merchandise  by  this  risky  route,  they 
were  light,  so  that  the  rate  of  progress  was  unusually  rapid.  We  cannot  trouble 
ourselves  with  the  minor  incidents  of  the  journey.  Taking  it  for  granted  that 
the  Rio  Grande  was  passed,  that  halts  were  made,  meals  cooked  and  eaten, 
nights  passed  in  sleep,  days  in  pleasant  and  picturesque  travelling,  we  will  leap 
into  the  desert  land  beyond  San  Isidoro. 

The  train  was  now  seventy-five  miles  from  Santa  Fe.  Coronado  had  so 
pushed  the  pace  that  he  had  made  this  distance  in  the  rather  remarkable  time  of 
three  days.  Of  course  his  object  in  thus  hurrying  was  to  get  so  far  ahead  of 
Thurstane  that  the  latter  would  not  try  to  overtake  him,  or  would  get  lost  in  at- 
tempting it. 

Meanwhile  he  had  not  forgotten  Garcia's  little  plan,  and  he  had  even  better 
remembered  his  own.  The  time  miglit  come  when  he  would  be  driven  to  /osg 
Clara  ;  it  was  very  shocking  to  tliink  of,  however,  and  so  for  the  present  he  did 
not  think  of  it;  on  the  contrary,  he  worked  hard  (much  as  he  hated  work)  at 
courting  her. 

r  It  is  strange  that  so  many  men  who  are  morally  in  a  state  of  decomposition 
should  be,  or  at  least  can  be,  sweet  and  charming  in  manner.  During  these 
three  days  Coronado  was  delightful  ;  and  not  merely  in  this,  that  he  watched 
over  Clara's  comfort,  rode  a  great  deal  by  her  side,  gathered  wild  flowers  for 
ner,  talked  much  and  agreeably;  but  al^o  in  t'.iat  he  poured  oil  over  his  whole 
conduct,  and  was  good  to  everybody.  Although  his  natural  disposition  was  to 
be  domineering  to  inferiors  and  irascible  under  the  small  provocations  of  life, 
he  now  gave  his  orders  in  a  gentle  tone,  never  stormed  at  the  drivers  for  their 
blunders,  made  light  of  the  bad  cooking,  and  was  in  short  a  model  for  travellers, 
lovers,  and  husbands.  Few  human  beings  have  so  much  self-control  as  Coro- 
nado, and  so  little.  So  long  as  it  was  policy  to  be  sweet,  he  could  generally  be  a 
very  honeycomb ;  but  once  a  certain  limit  of  patience  passed,   he  was  like  a 

i^swarm  of  angry  be-es  ;  he  became  b'.  nd,  mad,  and  poisonous  with  passion. 

"  Mr.  Coronado,  you  are  a  wonder,"  proclaimed  the  admiring  Aunt  Maria. 
"You  are  the  only  man  I  ever  knew  that  was  patient." 

"I  catch  a  grace  from  those  who  have  it  abundantly  and  to  spare,"  said  Cor- 
onado, taking  oifhis  hat  and  waving  it  at  the  two  ladies. 

1*^  "  Ah,  yes,  we  women  know  how  to  be  patient,"  smiled  Aunt  Maria.  "I 
think  we  are  born  so.  But,  more  than  that,  we  learn  it.  Moreover,  our  phy- 
sical nature  teaches  us.     We  have  lessons  of  pain  and  weakness  that  men  know 


OVERLAND. 


29 


nothing  of.     The  great,  he.illhy  savages  !     If  ihcy  had  our  troubles,  they  might 
have  some  of  our  virtues." 

•'  I  refuse  to  believe  it,"  cried  Coronado.  "  IVIan  acquire  woman  s  worth  i 
Never  !  The  nature  of  the  beast  is  inferior.  He  is  not  fashioned  to  become  an 
aii<Tel." 

°  '  How  charmin-ly  candid  and  humble  !  "  thought  Aunt  Maria.     "  How  dif- 
ferent from   that  sulky,  proud  Thurstane,  who  never  says  anything  of  the  sort, 

\ and  never  thinks  it  either,  I'll  be  bound." 

All  this  sort  of  talk  passed  over  Clara  as  a  desert  wind  passes  over  an  oasis, 
brin-ing  no  pleasant  songs  of  birds,  and  sowing  no  fruitful  seed.  She  had  her 
born^'ideas  as  to  men  and  women,  and  she  was  seemingly  incapable  of  receivmg 
any  others.  In  her  mind  men  were  strong  and  brave,  and  women  we..k  and 
timorous  ;  she  believed  tliat  tlie  first  were  good  to  hold  on  to,  and  tliat  the  last 
were  good  to  hold  on;  all  this  she  held  by  birthright,  without  ever  reasoning 
upon  it  or  caring  to  prove  it. 

Coronado,  on  his  part,  hooted  in  his  soul  at  Mrs.  Stanley's  whimsies,  and 
half  supposed  her  to  be  of  unsound  mind.  Nor  would  he  have  said  what  he  did 
about  tlie  vast  superiority  of  the  female  sex,  had  he  supposed  that  Clara  would 
attach  the  least  weight  to  it.  He  knew  that  the  girl  looked  upon  his  extravagant 
declarations  as  merely  so  many  compliments  paid  to  her  eccentric  relative, 
equivalent  to  bowings  and  scrapings  and  flourishes  of  the  sombrero.  Both 
Spaniards,  thev  instinctively  coniprdiended  each  otlier,  at  least  in  the  surface 
matters  of  intercourse.  Meanwhile  the  American  strong-minded  female  under- 
stood herself,  it  is  to  be  charitably  hoped,  but  understood  herself  alone. 

Coronado  did  not  hurry  his  courtship,  for  he  believed  that  he  had  a  clear 
field  before  him,  and  he  was  too  sagacious  to  startle  Clara  by  overmuch  energy. 
Meantime  he  began  to  be  conscious  that  an  influence  from  her  was  reaching  his 
spirit.  He  had  hitherto  considered  her  a  child  ;  one  day  he  suddenly  recognized 
r  her  as  a  woman.  Now  a  woman,  a  l)eautirul  woman  especially,  alone  with  one 
in  the  desert,  is  very  mighty.  Matches  are  made  in  trains  overland  as  easily 
and  quickly  as  on  sea  voyages  or  at  quiet  summer  resorts.  Coronado  began— 
l_^  only  moderately  as  yet — to  fall  in  love. 

But  an  ugly  incident  came  to  disturb  his  opening  dream  of  affection,  happi- 
ness, wealtlCand  success.  Toward  the  close  of  his  fourth  day's  march,  after 
he  had  got  well  into  the  unsettled  region  beyond  San  Isidoro,  he  discovered, 
several  miles  behind  the  train,  a  party  of  five  horsemen.  He  was  on  one  sum- 
mit and  they  on  another,  with  a  deep,  stony  valley  intervening.  Without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  he  galloped  down  a  long  slope,  rejoined  the  creeping  wagons, 
hurried  them  forward  a  mile  or  so,  and  turned  into  a  ravine  for  the  night's  halt. 
Whether  the  cavaliers  were  Indians  or  Thurstane  and  his  four  recruits  he 
had  been  unable  to  make  out.  They  had  not  seen  the  train  ;  the  nature  of  the 
ground  had  prevented  that.  It  was  now  past  sundown,  and  darkness  coming  on 
rapidly.  Whispering  something  about  Apaches,  he  gave  orders  to  lie  close  and 
light  no  fires  for  a  while,  trusting  that  the  pursuers  would  pass  his  hiding  place. 
°  For  a  moment  he  thought  of  sending  Texas  Smith  to  ambush  the  party,  and 
shoot  Thurstane  if  he  should  be  in  it,  pleading  afterwards  that  the  men  looked,  in 
the  darkness,  like  Apaches.  But  no  ;  this  was  an  extreme  measure  ;  he  re- 
volted against  it  a  little.  Moreover,  there  was  danger  of  retribution  :  settlements 
not  so  far  off;  soldiers  still  nearer. 

So  he  lay  quiet,  chewing  a  bit  of  grass  to  allay  his  nervousness,  and  talking 
stronger  love  to  Clara  than  he  had  yet  thouglit  needful  or  wise. 


su 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Lieutenant  Thurstane  passed  the  mouth  of  the  ravine  in  the  dusk  of 
twiliglit,  without  guessing  that  it  contained  Clara  Van   Dienien  and  her  perils. 

He  had  with  him  Sergeant  Weber  of  his  own  company,  just  returned  from 
recruiting  service  at  St.  Louis,  and  three  recruits  for  the  company,  Kelly,  Shu- 
bert,  and  Sweeny. 

Weber,  a  sunburnt  German,  with  sandy  eyelashes,  blue  eyes,  and  a  scar  on 
his  cheek,  had  been  a  soldier  from  his  eighteenth  to  his  tliiitieth  year,  and  wore 
the  serious,  patient,  much-enduring  air  peculiar  to  veterans.  Kelly,  an  Irish- 
man, also  about  thirt}',  slender  in  form  and  somewhat  haggard  in  face,  with  the 
same  quiet,  contained,  seasoned  look  to  him,  the  same  reminiscence  of  unavoida- 
ble sufferings  silently  borne,  was  also  an  old  infantry  man,  having  served  in  both 
the  British  and  American  armies.  Shubert  was  an  American  lad,  who  had  got 
tired  of  clerking  it  in  an  apothecary's  shop,  and  had  enlisted  from  a  desire  for 
adventure,  as  you  might  guess  from  his  larkish  countenance.  Sweeny  was  a  di- 
minutive Paddy,  hardly  regulation  height  for  the  army,  as  light  and  lively  as  a 
monkey,  and  with  much  the  air  of  one. 

Thurstane  had  obtained  orders  from  the  post  commandant  to  lead  his  party 
by  the  northern  route,  on  condition  that  he  would  investigate  and  report  as  to 
its  practicability  for  military  and  other  transit.  He  had  also  been  allowed  to 
draw  by  requisition  fifty  days'  rations,  a  box  of  ammunition,  and  four  mules. 
Starting  thirty-six  hours  after  Coronado,  he  made  in  two  days  and  a  half  the  dis- 
tance which  the  train  had  accomplished  in  four.  Now  he  had  overtaken  his 
quarry,  and  in  the  obscurit)'  had  passed  it. 

But  Sergeant  Weber  was  an  old  hand  on  the  Plains,  and  notwithstanding  the 
darkness  and  the  generally  stony  nature  of  the  ground,  he  presently  discovered 
that  the  fresh  trail  of  the  wagons  was  missing.  Thurstane  tried  to  retrace  his 
steps,  but  starless  night  had  already  fallen  thick  around  him,  and  before  long  he 
had  to  come  to  a  halt.  He  was  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  ravine  ;  he  was  with- 
in five  hundred  y;irds  of  Clara,  and  raging  because  he  could  not  find  her.  .Sud- 
denly Coronado's  cooking  fires  flickered  through  the  gloom  ;  in  live  minutes  the 
two  parties  were  together. 

It  was  a  jo3'Ous  meeting  to  Thurstane  and  a  disgusting  one  to  Coronado. 
Nevertheless  the  latter  rushed  at  the  officer,  grasped  him  by  both  hands,  and 
shouted,  "All  hail,  Lieutenant!  So,  there  you  are  at  last!  My  dear  fellow, 
what  a  pleasure  !  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  by  Jove  !  "  returned  the  voung  fellow,  unusually  boisterous  in 
his  joy,  and  shaking  hands  with  everybod)',  not  rejecting  even  muleteers.  And 
then  what  throbbing,  what  adoration,  what  supernal  delight,  in  the  moment  when 
he  faced  Clara 


OVERLAND.  31 

In  the  morning  the  journey  recommenced.  As  neither  Thursfane  nor  Coro- 
nado  had  now  any  cause  for  hurry,  the  pace  was  moderate.  The  soldiers 
marclied  on  toot,  in  order  to  leave  the  government  mules  no  other  load  than  the 
rations  and  ammunition,  and  so  enable  them  to  recover  from  their  sharp  push  of 
over  eighty  miles.  The  party  now  consisted  of  twenty-live  men,  for  the  most 
part  pretty  well  armed.  Of  the  other  sex  there  were,  besides  Mrs.  Stanley  and 
Clara,  a  half-breed  girl  named  Pepita,  who  served  as  lady's  maid,  and  two  Indian 
women  from  Garcia's  hacienda,  whose  specialties  were  cooking  and  washing. 
In  all  thirty  persons,  a  nomadic  village. 

At  the  tirst  halt  Sergeant  Weber  approached  Thurstane  with  a  timorous  air, 
saluted,  and  asked,  "Leflenant,  can  we  leafe  our  knabsacks  in  ihe  vagons  .'' 
The  gentleman  has  gifen  us  berniission." 

"Tiie  men  ought  to  learn  to  carry  tlieir  knapsacks,"  said  Thurstane.  "They 
will  have  to  do  it  in  serious  service." 

"It  is  drue,  Leftenant,"  replied  Weber,  saluting  again  and  moving  off  with- 
out a  sign  of  disappointment. 

"  Let  that  man  come  back  here,"  called  Aunt  Maria,  who  had  overheard  the 
dialogue.  "Certainly  ihey  can  put  their  loads  in  the  wagons.  I  told  Mr.  Core* 
nado  to  tell  them  so." 

Weber  looked  at  her  without  moving  a  muscle,  and  without  showing  either 
wonder  or  amusement.  Tinirstane  could  not  help  grinning  good-naturedly  as 
he  saiil,  "  I  receive  your  orders,  Mrs.  Stanley.  Weber,  you  can  put  the  knap- 
sacks in  the  wagons." 

Weber  saluted  anew,  gave  Mrs.  Stanley  a  glance  of  gratitude,  and  went 
about  his  pleasant  business.  An  old  solilier  is  not  in  general  so  stiict  a  disci- 
plinarian as  a  young  one. 

"  What  a  brute  that  Lieutenant  is  !  "  tliought  Aunt  Maria.  "  Make  those 
poor  fellows  carry  those  monstrous  packs  ?  Nonsense  and  tyranny  !  How  dif- 
ferent frQm  Mr.  Coronado  !     He  fairly  jumped  at  my  idea," 

Thurstane  stepped  over  to  Coronado  and  said,  "  You  are  very  kind  to  re- 
lieve my  men  at  the  expense  of  your  animals.     I  am  much  obliged  to  you." 

"It  is  nothing,"  replied  the  Mexican,  waving  his  liand  graciously.  "I  am 
delighted  to  be  of  service,  and  to  show  myself  a  good  citizen." 

In  fact,  he  had  been  quite  willing  to  favor  the  soldiers  ;  why  not,  so  long  as 
he  could  not  get  rid  of  them  ?  If  the  Apaches  would  lance  tliem  all,  including 
Thurstane,  he  would  rejoice  ;  but  while  that  could  not  be,  he  might  as  well  s]u)vv 
himself  civil  and  gain  popularity.  It  was  not  Coronado's  style  to  bark  when 
there  \vas  no  chance  of  biting. 

He  was  in  serious  thought  the  while.  How  should  he  rid  himself  of  this 
rival,  this  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  well-laid  plans,  this  interloper  into  his  cara-i 
van  .'     Must  he  call  upon  Texas. Smith  to  assassinate  the  fellow  ?     It  was  a  dis- 


S2  OVERLAND. 

agreeably  brutal  solution  of  the  difficulty,  and  moreover  it  might  lead  to  loud 
suspicion  and  scandal,  and  fina-lly  it  might  be  downright  dangerous.  There 
was  sucli  a  thing  as  trial  for  murder  and  for  conspiracy  to  effect  murder.  As  to 
causing  a  United  States  officer  to  vanish  quietly,  as  miglit  perhaps  be  done  with 
an  ordinary  American  emigrant,  that  was  too  good  a  thing  to  be  hoped.  He 
must  wait ;  he  must  have  patience  ;  he  must  trust  to  the  future  ;  perhaps  some 
precipice  would  favor  him  ;  perhaps  the  wild  Indians.  He  offered  his  cigarilos 
to  Tliurstane,  and  they  smoked  tranquilly  in  company. 

"  What  route  do  you  take  from  here  ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

"  Pass  Washington;  as  you  call  it.  Then  the  Moqui  country.  Then  the  San 
Juan." 

"  There  is  no  possible  road  down  the  San  Juan  and  the  Colorado." 

"  If  we  find  that  to  be  so,  we  will  sweep  southward.  1  am,  in  a  measure,  ex- 
ploring.    Garcia  wants  a  route  to  Middle  California." 

"  I  also  have  a  sort  of  exploring  leave.  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  keep  along 
witli  you.     It  may  be  best  for  both." 

Tiie  announcement  sounded  like  a  threat  of  surveillance,  and  Coronado's 
dark  cheek  turned  darker  with  angry  blood.  This  stolid  and  intrusive  brute 
was  absolutely  demanding  his  own  death.  After  saying,  with  a  forced  smile, 
"You  will  be  invaluable  to  us,  Lieutenant,"  the  Mexican  lounged  away  to  where 
Texas  Smith  was  examining  his  firearms,  and  whispered,  "Well,  will  you  do 
it?" 

"I  ain't  afeared  of  //////,"  muttered  the  borderer.  "It's  his  clothes.  I  don't 
like  to  shute  at  jackets  with  them  buttons.  I  mought  git  into  big  trouble.  The 
army  is  a  big  thing." 

"  Two  hundred  dollars,"  whispered  Coronado. 

"  You  said  that  befo',"  croaked  Texas.     "  Go  it  some  better." 

"  Four  hundred." 

"  Stranger,"  said  Texas,  after  debating  his  chances,  "it's  a  big  thing.  But 
I'll  do  it  for  that." 

Coronado  walked  away,  hurried  up  his  m.uleteers,  exchanged  a  word  with 
Mrs.  Stanley,  and  finally  returned  to  Thurstane.  His  thin,  dry,  dusky  fingers 
trembled  a  little,  but  he  looked  his  man  steadily  in  the  face,  while  he  tendered 
him  another  cigarito.  • 

"  W^ho  is  your  hunter  ?  "  asked  the  officer.  "  I  must  say  he  is  a  devilish  bad- 
looking  fellow." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  best  hunters  Garcia  ever  had,"  replied  the  Mexican.  "  He 
is  one  of  your  own  people.  You  ouglit  to  like  him." 
p  Further  journeying  brought  with  it  topographical  adventures.  The  country 
into  wliich  they  were  penetrating  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  the  world  for 
its  physical  peculiarities.  Its  scenery  bears  about  the  same  relation  to  the 
scenery  of  earth  in  general,  that  a  skeleton's  head  or  a  grotesque  mask  bears  to 
the  countenance  of  living  humanity.  In  no  other  portion  of  our  planet  is  nature 
so  unnatural,  so  fanciful  and  extravagant,  and  seemingly  the  production  of  caprice, 
/    as  on  the  great  central  plateau  of  North  America. 

They  had  left  far  behind  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  had  placed 
between  it  and  them  the  barren,  sullen  piles  of  the  Jemez  mountains.  No  more 
long  sweeps  of  grassy  plain  or  slope  ;  they  were  amid  the  ddbris  of  rocks  which 
hedge  in  the  upper  heights  of  the  great  plateau  ;  they  were  struggling  through 
it  like  a  forlorn  hope  through  chevatix-de-frise.  The  morning  sun  came  upon 
them  over  treeless  ridges  of  sandstone,  and  disappeared  at  evening   behind 


L 


OVERLAND.  33 

rido'cs  equally  naked  and  arid.  The  sides  of  these  barren  masses,  seamed  by 
the  action  of  water  in  remote  geologic  ages,  and  never  softened  or  smoothed  by 
the  gentle  attrition  of  rain,  were  infinitely  more  wild  and  jagged  in  their  details 
than  ruins.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Titans  had  built  here,  and  their  works  had. 
been  shattered  by  thunderbolts, 
r"  Many  heights  were  truncated  mounds  of  rock,  reseml>ling  gigantic  platforms 
with  ruinous  sides,  such  as  are  known  in  this  Western  land  as  mesas  or  buttes. 
They  were  Nature's  enormous  mockery  of  the  most  ambitious  architecture  of 
man,  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  and  the  platform  of  Baalbek.  Terrace  above  ter- 
race of  sliattered  wall  ;  escarpments  which  had  been  displaced  as  if  by  the  ex- 
plosion of  some  incredible  mine  ;  ramparts  wiiich  were  here  high  and  regular, 
and  there  gaping  in  miglity  fissures,  or  suddenly  altogether  lacking  ;  long  sweeps 
of  stairway,  winding  dizzily  upwards,  only  to  close  in  an  impossible  leap:  there 
/was  no  end  to  the  fantastic  outlines  and  tlie  suggestions  of  destruction. 
I  Nor  were  the  open  spaces  between  these  rocky  mounds  less  remarkable.    In 

one  valley,  the  course  of  a  river  which  vanished  ages  ago,  the  power  of  fire  had  left 
its  monuments  amid  those  of  the  power  of  water.  Tiie  sedimentary  rock  of  sand- 
stone, shales,  and  marl,  not  only  showed  veins  of  ignitible  lignite,  but  it  was 
pierced  by  the  trap  which  had  been  shot  up  from  earth's  flaming  recesses.  Dikes 
of  this  volcanic  stone  crossed  each  other  or  ran  in  long  parallels,  presenting 
forms  of  tbrtifications,  walls  of  buildings,  ruined  lines  of  aqueducts.  The  sand- 
stone and  marl  had  been  worn  away  by  the  departed  river,  and  by  the  delicately 
sweeping,  incessant,  tireless  wings  of  the  afreets  of  the  air,  leaving  the  iron-like 
trap  in  bold  projection. 

Some  of  these  dikes  stretched  long  distances,  with  a  nearly  uniform  height 
of  four  or  five  feet,  closely  resembling  old  field-walls  of  the  solidest  masonry. 
Others,  not  so  extensive,  but  higher  and  pierced  with  holes,  seemed  to  be  frag- 
ments of  ruined  edifices,  with  broken  windows  and  shattered  portals.  As  the 
trap  is  columnar,  and  the  columns  are  horizontal  in  tlieir  direction,  the  joints  of 
the  polygons  sliow  along  tiie  surface  of  the  ramparts,  causing  them  to  look  like 
the  work  of  Cyclopean  l)ui!ders.  The  Indians  and  Mexicans  of  the  expedition, 
deceived  by  the  similarity  between  tliese  freaks  of  creation  and  the  results  of  hu- 
man workmanship,  repeatedly  called  out,  "  Casas  Grandes  !  Casas  de  ^lonte- 
zuma  ! " 

It  would  seem,  indeed,  as  if  the  arcient  peoples  of  this  country,  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  idea  of  a  large  architecture,  had  only  to  copy  the  grotesque  rock- 
work  of  natJ.ire.  Who  knows  but  that  such  might  have  been  the  germinal  idea 
of  their  constructions?  Mrs.  Stanley  was  quite  sure  of  it.  In  fact,  slie  was  dis- 
posed to  maintain  that  the  trap  walls  were  really  human  masonry,  and  t!ie  pro- 
duction of  Montezuma,  or  of  the  Amazons  invented  by  Coronado. 

"  Those  four-sided  and  six-sided  stones  look  altogether  too  regular  to  be  acci- 
dental," was  her  conclusion.  Notwithstanding  her  belief  in  a  superintending 
Deity,  she  had  an  idea  that  mucli  of  this  world  was  made  by  hazard,  or  perhaps 
by  the  Old  Harry, 
r  In  one  valley  the  ancient  demon  of  water-force  had  excelled  himself  in  en- 
chantments. The  slopes  of  the  alluvial  soil  were  dotted  with  little  buttes  of 
mingled  sandstone  and  shale,  varying  from  five  to  twenty  feet  in  height,  many 
of  them  bearing  a  grotesque  likeness  to  artificial  objects.  There  were  columns, 
there  were  haystacks,  there  were  enormous  bells,  there  were  inverted  jars,  there 
were  junk  bottles,  there  were  rustic  seats.  Most  of  these  fantastic  figures  were 
surmounted  by  a  flat  capital,  the  remnant  of  a  layer  of  stone  harder  than  the 
/   rest  of  the  mass,  and  therefore  less  worn  by  the  water  erosion 


U  OVERLAND. 

One  frngment  looked  like  a  monstrous  gymnastic  club  standing  upright,  with 
1  broad  button  to  secure  the  grip.  Another  was  a  mighty  centre-table,  fit  for 
the  halls  of  the  Scandinavian  gods,  consisting  of  a  solid  prop  or  pedestal  twelve 
feet  high,  swelling  out  at  the  top  into  a  leaf  fifteen  feet  across.  Another  was  a 
stone  hat,  standing  on  its  crown,  with  a  brim  two  yards  in  diameter.  Occasion- 
■*lly  there  was  a  figure  which  had  lost  its  capital,  and  so  looked  like  a  broken 
oillar,  a  sugar  loaf,  a  pear.  Imbedded  in  these  grotesques  of  sandstone  were 
fossils  of  wood,  of  fresh-water  shells,  and  of  fishes. 
P  It  was  a  land  of  extravagances  and  of  wonders.  Tiie  marvellous  adventures 
of  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  would  have  seemed  natural  in  it.  It  reminded  you  after  a 
vague  flishion  of  the  scenery  suggested  to  the  imagination  by  some  of  its  details 
or  those  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  Sindbad  the  Sailor  carrying  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Sea  ;  Giant  Despair  scowling  from  a  make-believe  window  in  a  fictitious 
castle  of  eroded  sandstone  ;  a  roc  with  wings  eighty  feet  long,  poising  on  a  giddy 
pinnacle  to  pounce  upon  an  elephant ;  pilgrim  Christian  advancing  with  sword  and 
buckler  against  a  demon  guarding  some  rocky  portal,  would  have  e.xcited  no  as- 
tonishment here. 
[_  Of  a  sudden  there  came  an  adventure  which  gave  opening  for  kniglit-errantry. 
As  Thurstane,  Coronado,  and  Texas  Smith  were  riding  a  few  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  the  caravan,  and  just  emerging  from  what  seemed  an  enormous  court 
or  public  square,  surrounded  by  ruined  edifices  of  gigantic  magnitude,  they  dis- 
covered a  man  running  toward  them  in  a  style  which  reminded  the  Lieutenant 
of  Timorous  and  Mistrust  flying  from  the  lions.  Impossible  to  see  what  he  was 
afraid  of;  there  was  a  broad,  yellow  plain,  dotted  with  monuments  of  sandstone; 
•no  living  thing  visible  but  this  man  running. 

He  was  an  American  ;  at  least  he  had  the  clothes  of  one.  As  he  approached, 
he  appeared  to  be  a  lean,  lank,  narrow-shouideretl,  yellow-faced,  yellow-iiaired 
creature,  such  as  you  might  expect  to  find  on  Cape  Cod  or  thereabouts.  Hollov,-- 
chested  as  he  was,  he  had  a  yell  in  him  which  was  quite  surprising.  From 
the  time  that  he  sighted  the  three  horsemen  he  kept  up  a  steady  screech  until  he 
was  safe  under  their  noses.  Then  he  fell  flat  and  gasped  for  nearly  a  minute 
without  speaking.  His  first  words  were,  "That's  pooty  good  sailin'  for  a  man 
who  ain't  used  to't." 

"  Did  you  run  all  the  way  from  Down  East  ? "  asked  Thurstane. 

"All  the  way  from  that  bewt  there — the  one  that  looks  most  like  a  haystack." 

"  Well,  who  the  devil  are  you  .' " 

"I'm  Phineas  Glover — Capm  Phineas  Glover — from  Fair  Haven,  Connec- 
ticut. I'm  goiu'  to  Californy  after  gold.  Got  lost  out  of  the  caravan  among  the 
mountings.  Was  comin'  along  alone,  'n'  run  afoul  of  some  Injuns.  They're 
hidin'  behind  that  bewt,  'n'  they've  got  my  mewl." 

"  Indians  !     How  many  are  there  ? " 

"Only  three.  'N'  I  expect  they  a'nt  the  real  wild  kind,  nnther.  Sorter  half 
Injun,  half  engineer,  like  what  come  round  in  tlie  circuses.  Didn't  make  much 
of 'n  offer  towards  carvin'  me.  But  I  judged  best  to  quit,  the  first  boat  that  put 
off.     Ah,  they're  there  yit,  'n'  the  mewl  tew." 

"You'll  find  our  train  back  there,"  said  Thurstane.  "You  had  better  make 
for  it.     We'll  recover  your  property." 

He  dashed  off  at  a  full  run  for  the  butte,  closely  followed  by  Texas  Smith 
and  Coronado.  The  Mexican  had  the  best  horse,  and  he  would  soon  have  led 
the  other  two  ;  but  his  saddle-girth  burst,  and  in  spite  of  his  skill  in  riding  he 
was  nearly  thrown.  Texas  Smith  pulled  up  to  aid  his  employer,  but  only  for  an 
instant,  as  Coronado  called,  "  Go  on." 


OVERLAND.  33 

The  borderer  now  spurred  after  Thurstane,  wlio  had  got  a  dozen  rods  the 
lead  of  him.  Coronado  rapidly  examiiiwl  his  saddle-bags  aiul  tlien  his  pockets 
without  finding  the  cord  or  strap  which  he  needed.  He  swore  a  little  at  this, 
but  not  with  any  poignant  emotion,  for  in  the  first  place  fighting  was  not  a  thing 
that  he  yearned  for,  and  in  the  second  place  he  hardly  anticipated  a  combat. 
The  robbers,  he  felt  certain,  were  only  v.igrant  rancheros,  or  the  cowardly  In- 
di.ms  of  some  village,  who  would  have  neither  the  weapons  nor  the  pluck  to  give 

battle. 

But  suddenly  an  alarming  suspicion  crossed  his  mind.  Would  Texas  Smith 
seize  this  chance  to  send  a  bullet  through  Tlmrstane's  head  from  behind  ? 
Knowing  the  cutthroat's  recklessness  and  his  almost  insane  thirst  for  blood,  he 
fcired  that  this  might  happen.  And  there  was  the  tr.iin  in  view  ;  the  deed 
would  probably  be  seen,  and,  if  so,  would  be  seen  as  murder  ;  and  then  would 
come  pursuit  of  the  ass.issin,  with  possibly  his  seizure  and  confession.  It  would 
not  do  ;  no,  it  would  not  do  here  and  now  ;  he  must  dash  forward  and  prevent  it. 

Swinging  his  saddle  upon  his  horse's  back,  he  vaulted  into  it  without  touch- 
ing pommel  or  stirrup,  and  set  off  at  full  speed  to  arrest  the  blow  which  he  de- 
sired. Over  the  plain  flew  the  fiery  animal,  Coronado  balancing  himself  in  his 
unsteady  seat  with  marvellous  ease  and  grace,  his  dark  eyes  steadily  watching 
every  movement  of  the  bushwhacker.  There  were  sheets  of  bare  rock  here  and 
there  ;  there  were  loose  slates  and  detached  blocks  of  sandstone.  The  beast 
dashed  across  the  first  without  slipping,  and  cleared  the  others  without  swerv- 
ing ;  his  rider  bowed  and  swayed  in  the  saddle  without  falling. 

Texas  Smith  was  now  within  a  few  yards  of  Thurstane,  and  it  could  be  seen 
that  he  had  drawn  his  revolver.  Coronado  asked  himself  in  horror  whether  the 
man  had  understood  the  words  "Go  on"  as  a  command  for  murder.  He  was 
thinking  very  fast ;  he  was  thinking  as  fast  as  he  rode.  Once  a  terrible  temptation 
came  upon  him  :  he  might  let  the  fatal  shot  be  fired  ;  then  he  might  fire  another. 
Thus  he  would  get  rid  of  Thurstane,  and  at  the  same  time  have  the  air  of 
avenging  him,  while  ridding  himself  of  his  dangerous  bravo.  But  he  rejected 
this  plan  almost  as  soon  as  he  thought  of  it.  He  did  not  feel  sure  of  bringing  down 
Texas  at  the  first  fire,  and  if  he  did  not,  his  own  life  was  not  worth  a  second's 
purchase.  As  for  the  fact  that  he  had  been  lately  saved  from  death  by  the  bor- 
derer, that  would  not  have  checked  Coronado's  hand,  even  had  he  remembered 
it.  He  must  dash  on  at  full  speed,  and  prevent  a  crime  which  would  be  a 
blunder.  But  already  it  was  nearly  too  late,  for  tlie  Texan  was  close  upon  the 
officer.  Nothing  could  save  the  doomed  man  but  Coronado's  magnificent  horse- 
manship. He  seemed  a  part  of  his  steed  ;  he  shot  like  a  bird  over  the  sheets  and 
bowlders  of  rock  ;  he  was  a  wonder  of  speed  and  grace. 

Suddenly  the  outlaw's  pistol  rose  to  a  level,  and  Coronado  uttered  a  shout 
of  anxiety  and  horror. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

At  the  shout  which  Coronado  uttered  on  seeing  Texas  Smith's  pistol  aimed 
at  Thurstane,  the  assassin  turned  his  head,  discovered  the  train,  and,  lowering 
his  weapon,  rode  peacefully  alongside  of  his  intended  victim. 

Captain  Phin  Glover's  mule  was  found  grazing  behind  the  butte,  in  tlie  midst 
of  the  gallant  Captain's  dishevelled  baggage,  while  the  robbers  had  vanished  by 
a  magic  which  seemed  quite  natural  in  this  scenery  of  grotesque  marvels.     Thej 


36  OVERLAND. 

had  unqueslionably  seen  or  heard  their  pursuers  ;  but  how  had  the}' got  into  tha 
bowels  of  the  earth  to  escape  tliem  ? 
]  Thurstane  presently  solved  the  mystery  by  pointing  out  three   crouching 

figures  on  the  flat  cap  of  stone  which  surmounted  the  shales  and  marl  of  the 
butte.  Bare  feet  and  desperation  of  terror  could  alone  explain  how  they  bad 
reached  this  impossible  refuge.  Texas  Smith  immediately  consoled  himself  for 
his  disappointment  as  to  Thurstane  by  shooting  two  of  these  wretches  before  his 
hand  could  be  stayed. 

"They're  nothin'  but  Injuns,"  he  said,  with  a  savage  glare,  when  the  Lieu- 
tenant struck  aside  his  revolver  and  called  him  a  murdering  brute. 

The  third  skulker  took  advantage  of  the  cessation  of  firing  to  tumble  down 
from  his  perch  and  fly  for  his  life.  The  indefiitigable  Smith  broke  away  from 
Thurstane,  dashed  after  the  pitiful  fugitive,  leaned  over  him  as  he  ran,  and 
shot  him  dead. 

"I  have  a  great  mind  to  blow  your  brains  out,  you  beast,"  roared  the  dis- 
gusted officer,  who  had  followed  closely.  "  I  told  you  not  to  shoot  tliat  man." 
And  here  he  .swore  heartily,  for  which  we  must  endeavor  to  forgive  him,  seeing 
that  he  belonged  to  the  army. 

Coronado  interfered.  "My  dear  Lieutenant!  after  all,  they  were  robbers. 
They  deserved  punishment."     And  so  on. 

Texas  Smith  looked  less  angry  and  more  discomfited  than  might  have  been 
expected,  considering  his  hardening  life  and  ferocious  nature. 

"  Didn't  s'p'ose  you  really  keered  much  for  the  cuss,"  he  said,  glancing  re- 
spectfully at  the  imperious  and  angry  face  of  the  young  officer. 

"Well,  never  mind  now,"  growled  Thurstane.     "It's  done,  and  can't  be  un- 

(    done.     But,  by  Jove,  I  do  hate  useless  massacre.     Fighting  is  another  thing." 

[^        Sheathing  his  fury,  he  rode  off  rapidly  toward  the  wagons,  followed  in  silence 

bv  the  others.     The  three  dead  vagabonds  (perhaps  vagrants  from  the  region  of 

Abiquia)  remained  where  they  had  fallen,  one  on  the  stony  plain  and  two  on  the 

cap  of  the  butte.     The  train,  trending  here  toward  the  northwest,  passed  six 

hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  the  scene  of  slaughter  ;  and  when  Clara  and  Mrs. 

Stanley  asked  what  had  happened,  Coronado  told  them  with  perfect  glibness 

/      that  the  robbers  had  got  away. 

The  rescued  man,  deiiuhted  at  his  escape  and  the  recovery  of  his  mule  and 
luggage,  returned  thanks  right  and  left,  with  a  volubility  which  further  acquaint- 
ance showed  to  be  one  of  his  characteristics.  He  was  a  profuse  talker  ;  ran  a 
stream  every  time  you  looked  at  him  ;  it  was  like  turning  on  a  mill-race. 

"  Yes,  capm,  out  of  Fair  Haven,"  he  said.  "  Been  in  the  coastin'  'n'  Wes' 
Injy  trade.  Had  'n  unlucky  time  out  las'  few  years.  Had  a  schuner  burnt  in 
port,  'n'  lost  a  brig  at  sea.  Booty  much  l^roke  me  up.  Wife  'n'  dahter  gone 
into  th'  oyster-openin'  business.  Thought  I'd  try  my  ban'  at  openin'gold  mines 
in  Californv.  Jined  a  caravan  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  'n'  lost  my  reckonin's  back 
here  a  ways  " 
y  We  must  return  to  love  matters.  However  amazing  it  may  be  that  a  man 
who  has  no  conscience  should  nevertheless  have  a  heart,  such  appears  to  have 
/_been  the  case  with  that  abnormal  creature  Coronado.  The  desert  had  made 
him  take  a  strong  liking  to  Clara,  and  now  that  he  had  a  rival  at  hand  he  be- 
came impassioned  for  her.  He  began  to  want  to  marry  her,  not  alone  for  the 
sake  of  her  great  fortune,  but  also  for  her  own  sake.  Her  beauty  unfolded  and 
blossomed  wonderfully  before  his  ardent  eyes  ;  for  he  was  under  that  mighty 
glamour  of  the  emotions  which  enables  us  to  see  beauty  in  its  completeness  ;  he 


OVERLAND.  87 

was  favored  with   the  greatest   earthly   second-sight   which  is   vouchsafed   to 

mortals. 

Only  in  a  measure,  however  ;  the  money  still  counted  for  much  with  him. 
He  had  already  decided  wli;it  he  would  do  with  the  Muiioz  fortune  when  lie 
should  get  it.  He  would  go  to  New  York  and  lead  a  life  of  frugal  extravagance, 
economical  in  comforts  (as  we  understand  them)  and  expensive  in  pleasures. 
New  York,  with  its  adjuncts  of  Saratoga  and  Newport,  was  to  him  what  Paris  is 
to  many  Americans.  In  his  imagination  it  was  the  height  of  grandeur  and  hap- 
piness to  have  a  box  at  the  opera,  to  lounge  in  liroadway,  and  to  dance  at  the 
hops  of  the  Saratoga  hotels.  New  Mexico  !  he  would  turn  his  back  on  it ; 
he  would  never  set  eyes  on  its  dull  poverty  again.  As  for  Clara  ?  Well,  of 
course  she  would  share  in  his  gayeties  ;  was  not  that  enough  for  any  reasonable 
woman  ? 

But  here  was  this  stumbling-block  of  a  Thurstane.  In  tlie  presence  of  a 
handsome  rival,  who,  moreover,  had  started  first  in  the  race,  slow  was  far  from 
being  sure.  Coronado  had  discovered,  by  long  experience  in  flirtation  and  much 
intelligent  meditation  upon  it,  that,  if  a  man  wants  to  win  a  woman,  he  must  get  her 
head  full  of  him.  He  decided,  therefore,  that  at  the  first  chance  he  would  give 
Clara  distinctly  to  understand  how  ardently  he  was  in  love  with  her,  and  so  set 
her  to  thinking  especially  of  him,  and  of  him  alone.  Meantime,  he  looked  at 
her  adoringly,  insinuated  compliments,  performed  little  services,  walked  his 
horse  much  by  her  side,  did  his  best  in  conversation,  and  in  all  ways  tried  to 
outshine  the  Lieutenant. 

He  supposed  that  he  did  outshine  him.  A  man  of  thirty  always  believes  that 
he  appears  to  better  advantage  than  a  man  of  twenty-three  or  four.  He  trusts 
that  he  has  more  ideas,  that  he  commits  fewer  absurdities,  that  he  carries 
more  weight  of  character  than  his  juvenile  rival.  Coronado  was  far  more  fluent 
than  Thurstane  ;  had  a  greater  coir.mand  over  his  moods  and  manners,  and  a 
(arger  fund  of  animal  spirits ;  knew  more  about  such  social  trifles  as  women 
(ike  to  hear  of;  and  was,  in  short,  a  more  amusing  prattler  of  small  talk.  There 
was  a  steady  seriousness  about  the  young  officer — something  of  the  earnest 
sentimentality  of  the  great  Teutonic  race — wliich  the  mercurial  .Mexican  did  not 
understand  nor  appreciate,  and  whicli  he  did  not  imagine  could  be  fascinating 
to  a  woman.  Knowing  well  how  magnetic  passion  is  in  its  guise  of  Southern 
fervor,  he  did  not  know  that  it  is  also  potent  under  the  cloak  of  Northern 
solemnity. 

Unluckily  for  Coronado,  Clara  was  half  Teutonic,  and  could  comprehend  the 
tone  of  her  father's  race.  Notwitiistanding  Thurstane's  shyness  and  silences, 
she  discovered  his  moral  weight  and  gathered  his  unspoken  meanings.  There 
was  more  in  this  girl  than  appeared  on  the  surface.  Without  any  power  of  rea- 
soning concerning  character,  and  without  even  a  disposition  to  analyze  it,  she 
had  an  instinctive  perception  of  it.  While  her  talk  was  usually  as  simple  as  a 
child's,  and  her  meditations  on  men  and  things  were  not  a  bit  systematic  or  log- 
ical, her  deci.-.ions  and  actions  were  generally  just  what  they  should  be. 

Some  one  may  wish  to  know  whether  she  was  clever  enough  to  see  through 
the  character  of  Coronado.  She  was  clever  enough,  but  not  corrupt  enough. 
Very  pure  people  cannot  fully  understand  people  who  are  very  impure.  It  is 
probable  that  angels  are  considerably  in  the  dark  concerning  the  nature  of  the 
devil,  and  derive  their  disagreeable  impression  of  him  mainly  from  a  considera- 
tion of  his  actions.  Clara,  limited  to  a  narrow  circle  of  good  intentions  and  con- 
duct, might  not  divine  the  wide  regions  of  wickedness  through  which  roved  the 


38  OVERLAND. 

soul  of  Coronado,  and  must  wait  to  see  his  works  before  slie  could  fairly  bring 
him  to  judgment. 

Of  course  she  perceived  that  in  various  ways  he  was  insincere.  When  he 
prattled  compliments  and  expressions  of  devotion,  whether  to  herself  or  to 
others,  she  made  Spanish  allowance.  It  was  polite  hyperbole  ;  it  was  about  the 
same  as  saying  good-morning  ;  it  was  a  cheerful  way  of  talking  that  they  had  in 
Mexico;  she  knew  thus  mucli  from  her  social  experience.  But  while  she  cared 
little  for  his  adulations,  she  did  not  because  of  ihem  consider  him  a  scoundrel, 
nor  necessarily  a  hypocrite. 

Coronado  found  and  improved  opportunities  to  talk  in  asides  with  Clara. 
Thurstane,  the  modest,  proud,  manly  youngster,  who  had  no  meannesses  or 
trickeries  by  nature,  and  had  learned  none  in  his  honorable  profession,  would 
not  allow  himself  to  break  into  these  dialogues  if  tliey  looked  at  all  like  confi- 
dences. The  more  he  suspected  that  Coronado  was  courting  Clara,  the  more 
resolutely  and  grimly  he  said  to  himself,  "  Stand  back  !  "  The  girl  should  i^e 
perfectly  free  to  choose  between  them  ;  she  should  be  influenced  by  no  compul- 
sions and  no  stratagems  of  his  ;  was  he  not  "  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  "  ? 

"  By  Jove  !  I  am  miserable  for  life,"  he  thought  when  he  suspected,  as  he 
sometimes  did,  that  they  two  were  in  love.  "  I'll  get  myself  killed  in  my  next 
fight.  I  can't  bear  it.  But  1  won't  interfere.  Til  do  my  duty  as  an  honorable 
man.     Of  course  she  understands  me." 

But  just  at  this  point  Clara  failed  to  understand  him.  It  is  asserted  by  some 
philosophers  that  women  have  less  conscience  about  "cutting  each  other  out," 
breaking  up  engagements,  etc.,  than  men  have  in  such  matters.  Love-making 
and  its  results  form  such  an  all-important  part  of  their  existence,  that  they  must 
occasionally  allow  success  therein  to  overbear  such  vague,  passionless  ideas  as 
principles,  sentiments  of  honor,  etc.  It  is,  we  fear,  higiily  probable  that  if  Clara 
had  been  in  love  with  Ralph,  and  had  seen  her  chance  of  empire  threatened  by 
a  rival,  she  would  have  come  out  of  that  calm  innocence  which  now  seemed  to 
enfold  her  whole  nature,  and  would  have  done  such  things  as  girls  may  do  to 
avert  catastrophes  of  the  affections.  She  now  thought  to  herself.  If  he  cares  for 
me,  how  can  he  keep  away  from  me  when  he  sees  Coronado  making  eyes  at  me  ? 
She  was  a  little  vexed  with  him  for  behaving  so,  and  was  consequently  all  the 
sweeter  to  his  rival.  This  when  Ralph  would  have  risked  his  commission  for  a 
smile,  and  would  have  died  to  save  her  from  a  sorrow  ! 
y*  Presently  this  slightly  coquettish,  yet  very  good  and  lovely  little  being — this 
seraph  from  one  of  Fra  Angelica's  pictures,  endowed  with  a  frailty  or  two  of  liu- 
L-manity — found  herself  the  heroine  of  a  trying  scene.  Coronado  hastened  it  :  he 
judged  her  ready  to  fall  into  his  net ;  he  managed  the  time  and  place  for  the 
capture.  The  train  had  been  ascending  tor  some  hours,  and  had  at  last  reached 
a  broad  plateau,  a  nearly  even  floor  of  sandstone,  covered  with  a  carpet  ot  tlun 
earth,  the  whole  noble  level  bare  to  the  eye  at  once,  without  a  t;ee  or  a  thicket 
to  give  it  detail.  It  was  a  scene  of  tranquillity  and  monotony  ;  no  rains  ever  dis- 
turbed or  remoulded  the  tabulated  surface  of  soil  ;  there,  as  distinct  as  if  made 
yesterday,  were  the  tracks  of  a  train  which  had  passed  a  year  before. 

"Shall  we  take  a  gallop?"  said  Coronado.  "No  danger  ot  ambusnes 
here.'' 

Clara's  eyes  sparkled  with  youth's  love  of  excitement,  and  the  two  horses 
sprang  oiFat  speed  toward  the  centre  of  the  plateau.  After  a  glorious  flight  of 
five  minutes,  enjoyed  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  as  such  swift  delights  usualljf 
are,  they  dropped  into  a  walk  two  miles  ahead  of  the  wagons. 


OVERLAND.  39 

"That  was  magnificent,"  Clara  of  course  said,  Iier  face  flushed  with  pleasure 
aad  exercise. 

"You  are  wonderfully  handsome,"  observed  Coronado,  with  an  air  of  tliink- 
ing  aloud,  wliich  disguised  tlie  coarse  directness  of  the  flattery.  In  fact,  he  was 
so  dazzled  by  her  brilliant  color,  llie  sunlight  in  her  disordered  curls,  and  tlie 
joyous  sparkling  of  her  hazel  eyes,  tlial  he  spoke  with  an  ingratiating  honesty. 

Clara,  who  was  in  one  of  iier  unconscious  and  innocent  moods,  simply  re- 
plied, '•  I  suppose  people  are  always  handsome  enough  when  they  are  happy." 

"  Then  I  ought  to  be  lovely,"  said  Coronado.  "  I  am  happier  than  I  ever 
was  before." 

"Coron.ado,  you  look  very  well,"  observed  Clara,  turning  her  eyes  on  ]\im 
with  a  grave  expression  which  rather  puzzled  him.  "This  out-of-door  life  has 
done  you  good." 

"  Tiien  I  don't  look  very  well  indoors  .''  "  he  smiled. 

"You  know  wliat  I  mean,  Coronado.  Your  healtli  has  improved,  and  your 
face  shows  it." 

Fearing  that  she  was  not  in  an  emotional  condition  to  be  bewildered  and  fas- 
cinated by  a  declaration  of  love,  he  queried  vvliether  he  had  not  better  put  off  his 
enterprise  until  a  more  susceptible  moment.  Certainly,  if  he  were  witi\out  a  rival  ; 
but  there  was  Tiiurstane,  ready  any  and  every  day  to  propose  ;  it  would  not  do 
to  let  him  have  the  tirst  word,  and  cause  the  first  heart-beat.  Coronado  believed 
that  to  make  sure  of  winning  the  race  he  must  take  the  lead  at  the  start.  Yes, 
be  would  offer  himself  now;  he  would  begin  by  talking  her  into  a  receptive  state 
of  mind  ;  that  done,  he  would  say  with  all  his  eloquence,  "  I  love  you." 
r"  We  must  not  sup|)Ose  that  the  declaration  would  be  a  pure  fib,  or  anything 
like  it.  The  man  had  no  conscience,  and  he  was  almost  incomparablv  selfisli, 
but  he  was  capable  of  loving,  and  he  did  love.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  inflamed 
by  this  girl's  beauty  and  longed  to  possess  it.  It  is  a  low  species  of  affection, 
but  it  is  capable  of  great  violence  in  a  man  whose  physical  nature  is  ardent,  and 
Coronado's  blood  could  take  a  heat  like  lava.  Already,  although  he  had  not  yet 
developed  his  full  power  of  longing,  he  wanted  Clara  as  he  had  never  wanted  any 
woman  liefore.  We  can  best  describe  his  kind  of  sentiment  by  that  hungry,  car- 
I     nal  word  -wanted. 

After  riding  in  silent  thought  for  a  few  rods,  he  said,  "I  have  lost  my  good 
looks  now,  I  suppose." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Coronado  ?  " 

"  They  depend  on  my  happiness,  and  that  is  gone." 

"  Coronado,  you  are  playing  riddles." 

"This  taljle-land  reminds  me  of  my  own  life.     Do  5'ou  see  that  it  has  no 

verdure  ?     I  have  been  just  as  barren  of  all  true  happiness.     There  has  been  no 

fruit  or  blossom  of  true  alTection  for  me  to  gather.     You  know  that  I  lost  my  ex- 

N     cellent  father  and  my  sainted  mother  when  I  was  a  child.     I  was  too  young  to 

miss  them  ;  but  for  all  that  the  bereavement  was  the  same  ;  there  was  the  less 

I jove  for  me.     It  seems  as  if  there  had  been  none." 

'■  Garcia  has  been  good  to  you — of  late,"  suggested  Clara,  rather  puzzled  to 
fino  consolation  for  a  man  whose  misery  was  so  new  to  her. 

Remembering  what  a  scoundrel  Garcia  was,  and  what  a  villainous  business 
Garcia  had  sent  him  upon,  Coronado  felt  like  smiling.  He  knew  that  the  old  man 
had  no  sentiments  beyond  egotism,  and  a  family  pride  which  mainly,  if  not  en- 
tirely, sprang  from  it.  Such  a  heart  as  Garcia's,  what  a  place  to  nestle  in! 
Such  a  creature  as  Coronado  seeking  comfort  in  such  a  breast  as  his  uncle's  was 
very  much  like  a  rattlesnake  warming  himself  in  a  hole  of  a  rock. 


40  OVERLAND. 

"Ah,  yes!"  sighed  Coronado.  "Admirable  old  gentleman  !  I  should  not 
have  forgotten  him.  However,  he  is  a  solace  which  comes  rather  late.  It  is 
only  two  years  since  he  perceived  that  he  had  done  me  injustice,  and  received 
me  into  favor.  And  his  affection  is  somewhat  cold.  Garcia  is  an  old  man  laden 
with  affairs.  Moreover,  men  in  general  have  little  sympathy  with  men.  When 
we  are  saddened,  we  do  not  look  to  our  own  sex  for  cheer.     We  look  to  yours." 

Almost  every  woman  responds  promptly  to  a  claim  for  pity. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Coronado,"  said  Clara,  in  her  artless  way.  "  I  am, 
truly." 

"You  do  not  know,  you  cannot  know,  how  you  console  me." 

Satisfied  with  the  results  of  his  experiment  in  boring  for  sympathy,  he  tried 
another,  a  dangerous  one,  it  would  seem,  but  very  potent  when  it  succeed.s. 

*'  This  lack  of  affection  has  had  sad  results.  I  have  searched  everywhere  for 
it,  only  to  meet  with  disappointment.  In  my  desperation  1  have  searched  where 
1  should  not.  I  have  demanded  true  love  of  people  who  had  no  true  love  to 
give.  And  for  this  error  and  wrong  I  have  been  terribly  punished.  The  mere 
failure  of  hope  and  trust  has  been  hard  enough  to  bear.  But  that  was  not  the 
half.  Shame,  self-contempt,  remorse  have  been  an  infinitely  heavier  burden. 
If  any  man  was  ever  cured  of  trusting  for  happiness  to  a  wicked  world,  it  is  Coro- 
nado." 

In  spite  of  his  words  and  his  elaborately  penitent  expression,  Clara  only  par- 
tially understood  him.  Some  kind  of  evil  life  he  was  obviously  confessing,  but 
what  kind  she  only  guessed  in  the  vaguest  fashion.  However,  slie  comprehended 
enough  to  interest  her  warmly  :  here  was  a  penitent  sinner  who  had  forsaken  ways 
of  wickedness  ;  here  was  a  struggling  soul  which  needed  encouragement  and 
tenderness.  A  woman  loves  to  believe  that  she  can  b2  potent  over  hearts,  and 
especially  that  she  can  be  potent  for  good.  Clara  fixed  upon  Coronado's  face  a 
gaze  of  compassion  and  benevolence  which  was  almost  superhuman.  It  should 
have  shamed  him  into  honesty  ;  but  he  was  capable  of  trying  to  deceive  the 
saints  and  the  Virgin  ;  lie  merely  decided  that  siie  was  in  a  fit  frame  to  accept 
him. 

"At  last  I  have  a  faint  hope  of  a  sure  and  pure  happiness,"  he  said.  "  1  have 
found  one  who  1  know  can  strengthen  me  and  comfort  me,  if  she  will.  I  am 
seeking  to  be  worthy  of  her.  I  am  worthy  of  her  so  far  as  adoration  can  make 
me.  I  am  ready  to  surrender  my  whole  life — all  that  I  am  and  that  I  can  be — 
to  her." 

Clara  had  begun  to  guess  his  meaning  ;  the  quick  blood  was  already  flooding 
faer  cheek  ;  the  light  in  her  eyes  was  tremulous  with  agitation. 

"Clara,  you  must  know  what  I  mean,"  continued  Coronado,  suddenly  reacl>- 
ing  his  hand  toward  her,  as  if  to  take  her  captive.  "You  are  the  only  person  I 
ever  loved.  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul.  Can  your  heart  ever  respond  to  mine  ? 
Can  you  ever  bring  yourself  to  be  my  wife  ?  " 


r 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  Coronado  proposed  to  Clara,  she  was  for  a  moment  stricken  dumb 
with  astonishment  and  with  something  like  terror. 

Her  first  idea  was  that  she  must  take  hiin  ;  that  the  mere  fact  of  a  man  ask- 
ing for  her  gave  him  a  species  of  right  over  her  ;  that  there  was  no  such  thing 
Dossiblp  as  pn--  "'  '--^Vipn-  at  Coronado  with  a  helpless,  tim- 


OVERLAND.  41 

orous  air,  ver}'  much  as  a  child  looks  at  his  father,  when  the  father,  switching 
1    his  rattan,  says,  "Come  with  me." 

On  recovering  herself  a  little,  her  first  words — uttered  slowly,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise  and  of  involuntary  reproach — were,  "  Oh,  Coronado  I  I  did  not  expect 
this." 

"Can't  you  answer  me  ?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  which  was  honestly  tremulous 
with  emotion.     "  Can't  you  say  yes  ?  " 

"  Oil.  Coronado  !  "  repeated  Clara,  a  good  deal  touched  by  his  agitation. 
"  Can't  you  .'' "  he  pleaded.     Repetitions,  in  such  cases,  are  so  natural  and  so 
potent. 

"  Let  me  think,  Coronado,"  she  implored.  "  I  can't  answer  you  now.  You 
have  taken  me  so  by  surprise  ! " 

"Every  moment  that  you  take  to  think  is  torture  to  me,"  he  pleaded,  as  he 
continued  to  press  her. 

Perhaps  she  was  on  the  point  of  giving  way  before  his  insistence.  Consider 
the  ailvantages  that  he  had  over  her  in  this  struggle  of  wills  for  the  mastery. 
He  was  older  by  ten  years  ;  he  possessed  both  the  adroitness  of  self-command 
and  the  energy  of  passion  ;  he  had  a  long  experience  in  love  matters,  while  she 
had  none.  He  was  the  proclaimed  heir  of  a  man  reputed  wealthy,  and  could 
therefore,  as  she  believed,  support  her  handsomely.  Since  the  death  of  her 
father  she  considered  Garcia  the  head  of  her  family  in  New  Mexico;  and  Coro- 
nado had  had  the  face  to  tell  her  that  he  made  his  offer  with  the  approval  of 
Garcia.  Then  she  was  under  supposed  obligations  to  him,  and  he  was  to  be  her 
protector  across  the  desert. 

She  was  as  it  were  reeling  in  her  saddle,  when  a  truly  Spanish  idea  saved 
her. 

"  Mufioz  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "Coronado,  you  forget  my  grandfather.  He 
should  know  of  this." 

Although  the  man  was  unaccustoned  to  start,  he  drew  back  as  if  a  ghost  had 
confronted  him  ;  and  even  when  he  recovered  from  his  transitory  emotion,  he 
did  not  at  first  know  how  to  answer  her.  It  would  not  do  to  say,  "  Mufioz  is 
dead,"  and  much  less  to  add,  "You  are  his  heir." 

"We  are  Americans,"  he  at  last  argued.  "Spanish  customs  are  dead  and 
buried.  Can't  you  speak  for  yourself  on  a  matter  which  concerns  you  and  me 
alone  ? " 

•'  Coronado,  I  think  it  would  not  be  right,"  she  replied,  holding  firmly  to  her 
po.s'tion.  "  It  is  probable  that  my  grandfather  would  be  better  pleased  to  have 
this  matter  referred  to  him.  I  ought  to  consider  him,  and  you  must  let  me  do 
so." 

"  I  submit,"  he  bowed,  seeing  that  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  deciding  to 
make  a  grace  of  necessity.  "  It  pains  me,  but  I  submit.  Let  me  hope  that  you 
will  not  let  this  pass  from  your  mind.  Some  day,  when  it  is  proj^er,  I  shall  speak 
again." 

He  was  not  wholly  dissatisfied,  for  he  trusted  that  henceforward  her  head 
would  be  full  of  him,  and  he  had  not  much  hoped  to  gain  more  in  a  first  effort. 

"  I  shall  always  be  proud  and  gratified  at  the  compliment  you  have  paid  me," 
was  her  reply  to  his  last  request. 

"You  deserve  many  such  compliments,"  he  said,  gravely  courteous  and  quite 
sincere. 

Then  they  cantered  back  in  silence  to  meet  the  advancing  train. 

Yes,  Coronado  was  partly  satisfied.     He  believed  that  he  had  gained  a  firmer 


42  OVERLAND. 

footing  among  the  girl's  lliouglits  and  emotions  than  had  been  gained  by  Thur« 
stane.  In  a  degree  he  was  right.  [No  sensitive,  and  pure,  and  good  girl  can  re- 
ceive her  firstj)ffe.r  without  being  much  moved  by  it.  The  man  wiio  has  placed 
himself  at  her  feet  will  affect  her  strongly.  She  may  begin  to  dread  him,  or  be- 
gin to  like  him  more  than  before;  but  she  cannot  remain  utterly  indifferent  to 
him.  The  probability  is  that,  unless  subseijuent  events  make  him  disagreeable 
to  her,  she  will  long  accord  him  a  measure  of  esteem  and  gratitude.; 

For  two  or  three  days,  while  Clara  was  thinking  much  of  Coronado,  he  gave 
her  less  than  usual  of  his  society.  Believing  that  her  mind  was  occupied  with 
him,  that  she  was  wondering  whether  he  were  angry,  unhappy,  etc.,  he  remained 
a  good  deal  apart,  wrapped  himself  in  sadness,  and  trusted  that  time  would  do 
much  for  him.  Had  there  been  no  rival,  the  plan  would  have  been  a  good  one; 
biit  Ralph  Thurstane  being  present,  it  was  less  successful. 

Ralph  had  already  become  more  of  a  favorite  than  any  one  knew,  even  the 
j'oung  lady  herself;  and  now  that  he  found  chances  for  long  talks  and  sliort  gal- 
lops with  her,  he  got  on  better  than  ever.  He  was  just  the  kind  of  youngster  a 
girl  of  eighteen  would  naturally  like  to  have  ride  by  her  side.  He  was  hand- 
some ;  at  any  rate,  he  was  the  handsomest  man  she  had  seen  in  the  desert,  and 
the  desert  was  just  then  her  sphere  of  society.  You  could  see  in  his  figure  how 
strong  he  was,  and  in  his  face  how  brave  he  was.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  too  ; 
"  tendir  and  trew  "  as  the  Douglas  of  the  ballad  ;  sincere,  frank,  thoroughly  truth- 
ful and  honorable.  Every  way  he  seemed  to  be  that  being  that  a  woman  most 
wants,  a  potential  and  devoted  protector.  Whenever  Clara  looked  in  his  face 
her  eyes  said,  without  her  knov.'Iedge,  "  I  trust  you." 

Now,  as  we  have  already  stated,  Thurstane's  eyes  were  uncommonly  fine  and 
expressive.  Of  the  very  darkest  blue  that  ever  was  seen  in  anybody's  head,  and 
shaded,  moreover,  by  remarkably  long  chestnut  lashes,  they  had  the  advantages 
of  both  blue  eyes  and  black  ones,  being  as  gentle  as  the  one  and  as  fervent  as 
the  other.  Accordinglj-,  a  sort  of  optical  conversation  commenced  between  the 
two  young  people.  Every  time  that  Clara's  glance  said,  "I  trust  you,"  Thur- 
stane's responded,  "  I  will  die  for  you."  It  was  a  perilous  sort  of  dialogue,  and 
liable  to  involve  the  two  souls  which  looked  out  from  these  sparkling,  transparent 
windows.  Before  long  the  Lieutenant's  modest  heart  took  courage,  and  his 
stammering  tongue  began  th  be  loosed  somewhat,  so  that  he  uttered  things  which 
frightened  both  him  and  Clara.  Not  that  the  remarks  were  audacious  in  them- 
selves, but  he  was  conscious  of  so  much  unexpressed  meaning  behind  them,  and 
she  was  so  ready  to  guess  that  there  might  be  such  a  meaning  ! 

It  seems  ridiculous  that  a  fellow  who  could  hold  his  head  straight  up  before 
a  storm  of  cannon  shot,  should  be  positively  bashful.  Yet  so  it  was.  The  boy 
had  been  through  West  Point,  to  be  sure;  but  he  had  studied  there,  and  not 
flirted;  the  Academy  had  not  in  any  way  demoralized  him.  On  tlie  rthole,  in 
spite  of  swearing  under  gross  provocation,  and  an  inclination  toward  i-trictness 
in  discipline,  he  answered  pretty  well  for  a  Bayard. 

His  bashfulness  was  such,  at  least  in  the  presence  of  Clara,  that  h':  trembled 
to  the  tips  of  his  fingers  in  merely  making  this  remark  :  "JMiss  Van  Diemen^ 
this  journey  is  the  pleasantest  thing  in  my  whole  life." 

Clara  blushed  until  she  dazzled  him  and  seemed  to  burn  herself.  Neverthe- 
less she  was  favored  with  her  usual  childlike  artlessness  of  speech,  and  answered, 
"  I  am  glad  you  find  it  agreeable." 

Nothing  more  from  Ralph  for  a  minute ;  he  was  recovering  his  breath  and 
self-possession. 


r 


I 


OVERLAND.  43 

"You  cannot  tliink  liow  much  safer  I  feel  because  you  and  your  men  are  with 
■s,"  said  Clara. 

Thurstane  unconsciously  gripped  llie  handle  of  his  sabre,  with  a  feeling  that 
he  could  and  would  massacre  all  the  Indians  of  the  desert,  if  it  were  necessary 
to  preserve  her  from  harm. 

"  Yes,  you  may  rely  upon  my  men,  too,"  he  declared.  "They  have  a  sort  of 
adoration  for  you." 

"  Have  they  ?  "  asked  Clara,  with  a  frank  smile  of  pleasure.     "  I  wonder 
it.     I  hardly  notice  them.     I  ouglit  to.  they  seem  so  patient  and  trusty." 

"  .\h.  a  lady  !  "  said  Thurstane.  X'C'^  good  soldier  will  die  any  time  for  a  lady. 

Tlien  he  wondered  how  she  could  have  failed  to  guess  that  she  must  be  wdr  'y?^    ^lU,  ^ 
shipped  by  these  rough  men  for  her  beauty. 

I  have  overheard  them  talking  about  you,"  he  went  on,  gratified  at  being 
able  to  praise  her  to  her  face,  though  in  the  speech  of  others.  "Little  Sweeny 
f  ays,  in  his  Irish  brogue,  *  I  can  march  twic't  as  fur  for  the  seein'  av  her  ! '  " 

"Oh!  did  he?"  laughed  Clara.  "I  must  carry  Sweeny's  musket  for  him 
some  time." 

"  Don't,  if  you  please,"  said  Thurstane,  the  disciplinarian  rising  in  him. 
"You  would  spoil  him  for  the  service." 

'■  Can't  I  send  him  a  dish  from  our  table  ?  " 

"  That  would  just  suit  his  case.     He  hasn't  got  broken  to  hard-tack  yet." 

"  Miss  Van  Diemen,"  was  his  next  remark,  "do  you  know  what  you  are  to 
do,  if  we  are  attacked  ? " 

"  I  am  to  get  into  a  wagon." 

"  Into  which  wagon  ?  " 

"  Into  my  aunt's." 

"Why  into  that  one  .' " 

"  So  as  to  have  all  the  ladies  together." 

"  When  you  have  goi  into  the  wagon,  what  next  ?  " 

"  Lie  down  on  the  floor  to  protect  myself  from  the  arrows." 

"  Very  good,"  laughed  Thurstane.     "  You  say  your  tactics  well." 

This  catechism  had  been  put  and  recited  every  day  since  he  had  joined  the 
train.  The  putting  of  it  was  one  of  the  Lieutenant's  duties  and  pleasures  ;  and, 
notwithstanding  its  prophecy  of  peril,  Clara  enjoyed  it  almost  as  much  as  he. 

Well,  we  have  heard  these  two  talk,  and  much  in  their  usual  fashion.  Not 
great  souls  as  yet :  they  may  indeed  become  such  some  day  ;  but  at  present 
they  are  only  mature  in  moral  power  and  in  capacity  for  mighty  emotions.  In- 
formation, mental  development,  and  conversational  ability  hereafter. 

In  one  way  or  another  two  or  three  of  these  tete-k-tetes  were  brought  about 
everyday.  Thurstane  wanted  them  all  the  time;  would  have  been  glad  to  make 
life  one  long  dialogue  with  Miss  Van  Diemen;  found  an  aching  void  in  every 
moment  spent  away  from  her.  Clara,  too,  in  spite  of  maidenly  struggles  with 
herself,  began  to  be  of  this  way  of  feeling.  Wonderful  place  the  Great  American 
Desert  for  falling  in  love  ! 

Coronado  soon  guessed,  and  with  good  reason,  that  the  seed  which  he  had 
sown  in  the  girl's  mind  was  being  replaced  by  other  germs,  and  that  he  had 
blundered  in  trusting  that  she  would  think  of  him  while  she  was  talking  with 
Thurstane.  The  fear  of  losing  her  increased  his  passion  for  her,  and  made  hira 
hate  his  rival  with  correlative  fervor. 

"  Why  don't  you  find  a  chance  at  that  fellow  ? "  he  muttered  to  his  bravo, 
Texas  Smith. 


44  OVERLAND. 

"  How  the  h — I  kin  I  do  it  ?  "  growled  the  bushwhacker,  feeling  that  his  in- 
telligence and  courage  were  unjustly  called  in  question.  "  He's  allays  around 
the  train,  an'  his  sojers  allays  handy.     I  hain't  had  nary  chance." 

"  Take  him  off  on  a  hunt." 

"He  ain't  a  gwine.  I  reckon  he  knows  himself.  I'm  afeard  to  praise  hunt- 
in'  much  to  him  ;  he  might  get  on  my  trail.  Tell  you  these  army  chaps  is  resky. 
I  never  wanted  to  meddle  with  them  kind  o'  close.  You  know  I  said  so.  I 
said  so,  fair  an'  square,  I  did." 

r"  You  might  manage  it  somehow,  if  you  had  the  pluck." 
"  Had  the  pluck  !  "  repeated  Texas  Smith.  His  salluw,  haggard  face  turned 
dusky  with  rage,  and  his  singularly  black  eyes  flansed  as  if  with  hell-fire.  A 
Malay,  crazed  with  opium  and  ready  to  run  amok,  could  not  present  a  more  sav- 
age spectacle  than  this  man  did  as  he  swayed  in  his  saddle,  grinding  his  teeth,  "" 
clutching  his  rifle,  and  glaring  at  Coronatlo.  What  chiefly  infuriated  him  was 
/"that  the  insult  should  come  from  one  whom  he  considered  a  "greaser,"  a  man 
of  inferior  race.  He,  Te.xas  Smith,  an  American,  a  white  matt,  was  treated  as 
if  he  were  an  "Injun"  or  a  "nigger."  Coronado  was  thoroughly  alarmed,  and 
I    smoothed  his  ruffled  feathers  at  once. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  promptl}'.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Smith,  I  was  en- 
tirely wrong.  Of  course  I  know  that  you  iiave  courage.  Everybody  knows  it. 
Besides,  I  am  under  the  greatest  obligations  to  you.  You  saved  my  life.  By 
heavens,  I  am  horribly  ashamed  of  my  injustice." 

A  minute  or  so  of  this  fluent  apologizing  calmed  the  bushwhacker's  rage  and 
soothed  his  injured  feelings. 

"  But  you  oughter  be  keerful  how  you  talk  that  way  to  a  white  man,"  he  said. 
"  No  white  man,  if  he's  a  gentleman,  can  stan'  being  told  he  hain't  got  no  pluck." 

"  Certainly,"  assented  Coronado.  "Well,  I  have  apologized.  What  more 
can  I  do?" 

"Square,  you're  all  right  now,"  said  the  forgiving  Texan,  stretching  out  his 
bon)',  dirty  hand  and  grasping  Coronado's.    "But  don't  say  it  agin.    White  men 
can't  Stan'  sech  talk.     Well,  about  this  feller — I'll  see,  I'll  see.     Square,  I'll  try 
[__to  do  what's  right." 

Z'        As  Coronado  rode  away  from  this  interview,  he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage 

and  mortification,  muttering,  "A  white  man  !  a  white  man  !     So  I  am  a  black 

^   man.    Yes,  I  am  a  greaser.    Curse  this  whole  race  of  English-speaking  people  !  " 

After  a  while  he  began  to  think  to  the  purpose.  He  too  must  work  ;  he  must 
not  trust  altogether  to  Texas  Smith  ;  the  scoundrel  might  flinch,  or  might  fail. 
Something  must  be  done  to  separate  Clara  and  Thurstane.  What  should  it  be? 
Here  we  are  almost  ashamed  of  Coronado.  The  trick  that  he  hit  upon  was  the 
stalest,  the  most  threadbare,  the  most  commonplace  and  vulgar  that  one  can  im- 
agine. It  was  altogether  unworthy  of  such  a  clever  and  experienced  conspira- 
tor. His  idea  was  this  :  to  get  lost  with  Clara  for  one  night ;  in  the  morning  to 
rejoin  the  train.  Thurstane  would  be  disgusted,  and  would  unquestionably  give 
up  the  girl  entirely  when  Coronado  should  say  to  him,  "  It  was  a  very  unlucky 
accident,  but  I  have  done  what  a  gentleman  should,  and  we  are  engaged." 

This  coarse,  dastardly,  and  rather  stupid  stratagem  he  put  into  execution  as 
quickly  as  possible.  There  were  some  dangers  to  be  guarded  against,  as  for  in- 
stance Apaches,  and  the  chance  of  getting  lost  in  reality. 

"Have  an  eye  upon  me  to-day,"  he  suggested  to  Texas.  "If  I  leave  the 
train  with  any  one,  follow  me  and  keep  a  lookout  for  Indians.  Only  stay  out  of 
sight.' 


OVERLAND.  45 

Now  for  an  oppoiliiiiity  to  lead  Clara  astray.  The  re<;ion  was  favorable  ; 
they  were  in  an  arid  land  of  ragged  sandstone  spurs  and  bmtes  ;  it  would  be 
necessary  to  march  until  near  sunset,  in  order  to  tiiul  water  and  pasturage.  Con- 
sequently there  was  both  time  and  scenery  for  his  project.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
the  tr.iin  crossed  a  narrrow  mesa  or  plateau,  and  approached  a  sublime  terrace 
of  rock  which  was  the  fiice  of  a  second  table-land.  This  terrace  was  cleft  by 
several  of  those  wonderful  grooves  which  are  known  as  caftons,  and  which  were 
wrought  by  that  mighty  water-force,  the  sculpturer  of  the  American  desert.  In 
one  place  two  of  these  openings  were  neighbors  :  the  larger  was  the  route  and 
the  smaller  led  nowhere. 

"Let  the  train  pass  on,"  suggested  Coronado  to  Clara.  "If  you  will  ride 
with  me  up  this  little  cafton,  you  will  find  some  of  the  most  exquisite  scenery 
imaginable.     It  rejoins  the  large  one  further  on.     There  is  no  danger." 

Clara  would  have  preferred  not  to  go,  or  would  have  preferred  to  go  with 
Thurstane. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  urged  Aunt  Maria,  looking  out  of  her 
wagon.     "Mr.  Coronado,  I'll  ride  there  with  you  myself." 

The  result  of  the  dialogue  wliich  ensued  was  that,  after  the  train  had  entered 
the  gorge  of  the  larger  canon,  Coronado  and  Clara  turned  back  and  wandered 
up  the  smaller  one,  followed  at  a  distance  by  Texas  Smith.  In  twenty  minutes 
they  were  separated  from  the  wagons  by  a  barrier  of  sandstone  several  hundred 
feet  high,  and  culminating  in  a  sliarp  ridge  or  frill  of  rocky  points,  not  unlike  the 
spiny  back  of  a  John  Dory.  The  scenery,  although  nothing  new  to  Clara,  was 
such  as  would  be  considered  in  any  other  land  amazing.  Vast  walls  on  either 
side,  consisting  mainly  of  yellow  sandstone,  were  variegated  with  white,  bluish, 
and  green  shales,  with  layers  of  gypsum  of  the  party-colored  marl  series,  with 
long  lines  of  white  limestone  so  soft  as  to  be  nearly  earth,  and  with  red  and 
green  foliated  limestone  mixed  with  blood-red  shales.  The  two  wanderers 
seemed  to  be  amid  the  landscapes  of  a  Christmas  drama  as  they  rode  between 
these  painted  precipices  toward  a  crimson  sunset, 
r"  It  was  a  perfect  solitude.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  life  besides  their  own 
in  this  gorgeous  valley  of  desolation.  The  ragged,  crumbling  battlements,  and 
the  loftier  points  of  harder  rock,  would  not  have  furnished  subsistence  for  a  goat 
or  a  mouse.  Color  was  everywhere  and  life  nowhere:  it  was  such  a  region  as 
\  one  might  look  for  in  the  moon  ;  it  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  an  inhabited  planet. 
Before  they  had  ridden  half  an  hour  the  sun  went  down  suddenly  behind  ser- 
rated steeps,  and  almost  immediately  night  hastened  in  with  his  obscurities. 
Texas  Smith,  riding  hundreds  of  yards  in  the  rear  and  concealing  himself  be- 
hind the  turning  points  of  the  canon,  was  obliged  to  diminish  his  distance  in 
order  to  keep  them  under  his  guard.  Clara  had  repeatedly  expressed  her  doubts 
as  to  the  road,  and  Coronado  had  as  often  asserted  that  they  would  soon  see  the 
train.  At  last  the  ravine  became  a  gully,  winding  up  a  breast  of  shadowy  moun- 
tain cumbered  with  loose  rocks,  and  impassable  to  horses. 

"  We  are  lost,"  confessed  Coronado,  and  then  proceeded  to  console  her.  The 
train  could  not  be  far  off;  their  friends  would  undoubtedly  seek  them  ;  at  all 
events,  would  not  go  on  without  them.  Ti.sy  must  bivouac  there  as  well  as 
might  be,  and  in  the  morning  rejoin  the  caravan. 

He  had  been  forelhoughted  enough  to  bring  two  blankets  on  his  saddle,  and 
he  now  spread  them  out  for  her,  insisting  that  she  should  try  to  sleep.  Clara 
cried  frankly  and  heartily,  and  begged  him  to  lead  her  back  through  the  caRon. 
No;  it  could  not  be  traversed  by  night,  he  asserted  ;  they  would  certainly  break 


46  OVERLAND. 

their  necks  among  th€  bowldets.  At  last  tlie  girl  suffered  herself  to  be  wrapped 
in  the  blankets,  and  made  an  endeavor  to  forget  her  wretchedness  and  vexation 
in  slumber. 

Meantime,  a  few  hundred  yards  down  the  ravine,  a  tragedy  was  on  the  verge 
of  action.  Thurstane,  missing  Coronado  and  Clara,  and  learning  what  direction 
they  had  taken,  started  with  two  of  his  soldiers  to  find  them,  and  was  now  pick- 
ing his  way  on  foot  along  the  canon.  Behind  a  detached  rock  at  the  base  of  one 
of  the  sandstone  walls  Texas  Smith  lay  in  ambush,  aiming  his  rifle  first  at  one 
and  then  at  another  of  this  stumbling  trio,  and  cursing  the  starlight  because  it 
was  so  dim  that  he  could  not  positively  distinguish  which  was  the  officer. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

For  the  second  time  within  a  week,  Texas  .Smith  found  himself  upon  the 
brink  of  opportunity,  without  being  able  (as  he  had  phrased  it  to  Coronado)  to 
do  what  was  right. 

He  levelled  at  Thurstane,  and  then  it  did  not  seem  to  be  Thurstane  ;  he  had 
a  dead  sure  sight  at  Kelly,  and  then  perceived  that  that  was  an  error;  he  drew  a 
bead  on  Shubert,  and  still  he  hesitated.  He  could  distinguish  the  Lieutenant's 
voice,  but  he  could  not  fix  upon  the  figure  which  uttered  it. 

It  was  exasperating.  Never  had  an  assassin  been  better  ambuscaded.  He 
Vp-as  kneeling  behind  a  little  ridge  of  sandstone  ;  about  a  foot  below  its  edge  was 
an  orifice  made  by  the  rains  and  winds  of  bygone  centuries  ;  through  this,  as 
through  an  embrasure,  he  had  tlu-ust  his  rifle.  Not  a  chance  of  being  hit  by  a 
return  shot  while  after  the  enemy's  fire  had  been  drawn  he  could  fly  down  the 
ravine,  probably  without  discovervand  certainly  without  recognition.  His  horse 
was  tethered  below,  behind  another  rock  ;  and  he  felt  positive  that  these  men 
had  not  come  upon  it.  He  could  mount,  drive  their  beasts  before  him  into  the 
plain,  and  then  return  to  camp.  No  need  of  explaining  his  absence  ;  he  was 
the  head  hunter  of  the  expedition  ;  it  was  his  business  to  wander. 

All  this  was  so  easy  to  do,  if  he  could  only  take  the  firsr  step.  But  he  dared 
not  fire  lest  he  should  merely  kill  a  soldier,  and  so  make  an  uproar  and  rouse 
suspicions  without  the  slightest  profit.  It  was  not  probable  that  Coronado 
would  pay  him  for  shooting  the  wrong  man,  and  setting  on  foot  a  dangerous  in- 
vestigation. So  the  desperado  continued  to  peer  through  the  dim  night,  cursing 
his  stars  and  everybody's  stars  for  not  shining  better,  and  seeing  his  opportunity 
slip  rapidly  away.  After  Thurstane  and  the  others  had  passed,  after  the  chance 
of  murder  had  stalked  by  him  like  a  ghost  and  vanished,  he  left  his  aml)ush, 
glided  down  the  ravine  to  his  horse,  waked  him  up  with  a  vindictive  kick,  leaped 
into  the  saddle,  and  hastened  to  camp.  To  inquiries  about  the  lost  couple  he  re- 
plied in  his  sullen,  brief  way  that  he  had  not  seen  them  ;  and  when  urged  to  go 
to  their  rescue,  he  of  course  set  off  in  the  wrong  diiection  and  travelled  but  a 
short  distance. 

Meantime  Ralph  had  found  the  captives  of  the  canon.  Clara,  wrapped  in 
her  blankets,  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  rock,  and  crying  while  she  pretended  to 
sleep.  Coronado,  unable  to  make  her  talk,  irritated  by  the  faint  sobs  which  he 
overheard,  but  stubbornly  resolved  on  carrying  out  his  stupid  plot,  had  retired 
in  a  state  of  ill-humor  unusual  with  him  to  another  rock,  and  was  consoling 
himself  by  smoking  cigarito  af"ter  cigarito.     The  two  horses,  tied  together  neck 

20 


OVERLAND.  47. 

and  crupper,  were  fasting  near  by.  As  Coronado  Iiad  forgotten  to  bring  food 
with  him,  Gara  was  also  lasting. 

Think  of  Apaches,  and  imagine  the  terror  with  wldch  she  ca.)ght  tlie  sounds 
of  approach,  the  heavy,  stumbling  steps  tlirough  the  darkness.  Then  ima;»ine 
the  joy  with  which  she  recognized  Thurstane's  call  and  groped  to  meet  him.  In 
the  dizziness  of  her  delight,  and  amid  the  hiding  veils  of  tlie  obscurity,  it  did  not 
seem  wrong  nor  unnatural  to  fall  against  his  arm  and  be  supported  by  it  for  a 
moment.  Ralph  received  this  touch,  this  shock,  as  if  it  had  been  a  b.dl  ;  and 
his  nature  bore  the  impress  of  it  as  long  as  if  it  had  made  a  scar.  In  his  whole 
previous  life  he  had  not  felt  such  a  thril)  of  emotion  ;  it  was  almost  too  powerful 
to  be  adequately  described  as  a  pleasure. 

Next  came  Coronado,  as  happy  as  a  disappointed  burglar  wlmse  cue  it  is  to 
congratulate  the  rescuing  policeman.  "  My  dear  Lieutenant !  You  are  heaven's 
own  messenger.  You  have  s.ived  us  from  a  horrible  night.  But  it  is  prodigious  ; 
it  is  incredible.  You  must  have  come  here  by  enchantment.  How  in  God's 
name  could  you  find  your  way  up  this  fearful  canon  ?" 

"The  canon  is  perfectly  passable  on  foot,"  replied  the  young  officer,  stifHy 
and  angrily.  "  By  Jove,  sir  !  I  don  t  see  why  you  didn't  make  a  stai  L  to  get  out. 
This  is  a  pretty  place  to  lodge  Miss  Van  Dienicn." 

Coronado  took  ofT  his  hat  and  made  a  bow  of  submission  and  regret,  which 
was  lost  in  the  darkness. 

*•  I  must  say,"  Tluirslane  went  on  grumbling,  "that,  for  a  man  wiio  claims  to 
know  this  country,  your  management  has  been  very  singular." 

Clara,  fearful  of  a  quarrel,  slightly  pressed  his  arm  and  checked  this  volcano 
with  the  weight  of  a  feather. 

"  VVe  are  not  all  like  you,  my  dear  Lieutenant,"  said  Coronado,  in  a  tone  which 
might  have  been  either  apologetical  or  ironical.  "You  must  make  allowance  for 
ordinary  human  nature." 

"1  beg  pardon,"  returned  Thurstane,  who  was  thinking  now  chiefly  of  that 
pressure  on  his  arm.  "  The  truth  is,  I  v,ms  alarmed  for  your  safety.  I  can't  help 
feeling  responsibility  on  tliis  expedition,  although  it  is  your  train.  I\Iy  military 
education  runs  me  into  it,  I  suppose.  Well,  excuse  my  excitement.  Miss  Van 
Diemen,  may  I  help  you  back  through  the  gully  ?  " 

In  leaning  on  him,  being  guided  by  him,  being  saved  by  him,  trusting  in  him, 
the  girl  found  a  pleasure  which  was  irresistible,  althougli  it  seemed  audacious 
and  almost  sinful.  Before  the  canon  was  half  traversed  she  felt  as  if  she  could 
go  on  with  him  through  the  great  dark  valley  of  life,  confiding  in  his  strength 
and  wisdom  to  lead  her  aright  and  make  her  happy.  It  was  a  temporary  wave 
of  emotion,  but  she  remembered  it  long  after  it  had  passed. 

Around  the  fires,  after  a  cup  of  hot  coffee,  amid  the  odors  of  a  plentiful 
supper,  recounting  the  evening's  adventure  to  Mrs.  Stanley,  Coronado  was  at  his 
best.  How  he  rolled  out  the  English  language  !  Our  mother  tongue  hardly 
knew  itself,  it  ran  so  fluently  and  sounded  so  magniloquently  and  lied  so  natu- 
rally. He  praised  everybody  but  himself;  he  praised  Clara,  Thurstane,  and  the 
p  two  soldiers  and  the  horses  ;  he  even  said  a  flattering  word  or  two  for  Divine 
Providence.  Clara  especially,  and  the  whole  of  her  heroic,  more  than  human 
sex,  demanded  his  enthusiastic  admiration.  How  she  had  borne  the  terrors  of 
the  night  and  the  desert!  "Ah,  Mrs.  Stanley  !  only  you  women  are  capable  of 
such  efforts." 

Aunt  Maria's  Olympian  head  nodded,  and  her  cheerful  face,  glowing  with  tea 
I      and  the  camp  fires,  confessed  "  Certainly  !  " 


r 


y 


43  OVERLAND. 

"What  nonsense,  Coronaclo  !  "  said  Clara.  "  I  was  horribly  frightened,  and 
you  know  it." 

Aunt  Maria  frowned  with  surprise  and  denial.  "Absurd,  child  !  You  were 
not  frightened  at  all.  Of  course  you  were  not.  Why,  even  if  you  had  been 
slightly  timorous,  you  had  your  cousin  to  protect  you." 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Stanley,  I  am  a  poor  knight-errant,"  said  Coronado.  "We  Mexi- 
cans are  no  longer  formidable.  One  man  of  your  Anglo-Saxon  blood  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  better  defence  than  a  dozen  of  us.  We  have  been  subdued  ;  we 
must  submit  to  depreciation.  I  must  confess,  in  fact,  that  I  had  my  fears.  I  was 
greatly  relieved  on  my  cousin's  account  when  I  heard  the  voice  of  our  military 
chieftain  here." 

Then  came  more  flattery  for  Ralph,  with  proper  rations  for  the  two  privates. 
Those  faithful  soldiers — he  must  show  his  gratitude  to  them  ;  he  had  forgotten 
them  in  the  basest  manner.  "Here,  Pedronillo,  take  these  cigaritos  to  privates 
Kelly  and  Slnibert,  with  my  compliments.  Begging  jour  permission.  Lieuten- 
ant.    Thank  you." 

"  Pooty  tonguey  man,  that  Seenor,"  observed  Captain  Piiineas  Glover  to  Mrs. 
Stanley,  when  the  Mexican  went  off  to  his  blankets. 

"Yes  ;  a  very  agreeable  and  eloquent  gentleman,"  replied  the  lady,  wishing 
to  correct  the  skipper's  statement  while  seeming  to  assent  to  it. 

"Jess  so,"  admitted  Glover.  "  Ruther  airy.  Big  talkin' man.  Don't  raise 
no  sech  our  way." 

Captain  Glover  was  not  fully  aware  that  he  himself  had  the  fame  of  possess- 
ing an  imagination  which  was  almost  too  much  for  the  facts  of  this  world. 

"S'pose  it's  in  the  breed,"  he  continued.  "Or  likely  the  climate  has  suthin' 
to  do  with  it:  kinder  thaws  out  the  words  'n'  sets  the  idees  a-bilin'.  Niggers  is 
pooty  much  the  same.  Most  niggers  kin  talk  like  a  line  runnin'  out,  'n'  tell  lies 
's  fast  's  our  Fair  Haven  gals  open  oysters — a  quart  a  minute." 

"Captain  Glover,  what  do  you  mean  .'"  frowned  Aunt  IMaria.  "Mr.  Coro- 
nado is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  I  was  speakin'  of  niggers,"  returned  the  skipper  promptly.  "  Forgot 
we  begun  about  the  Seenor.  Sho  !  niggers  was  what  I  was  talkin'  of  B'  th' 
way,  that  puts  me  in  mind  'f  one  I  had  for  cook  once.  Jiminy  !  how  that  man 
would  cook!  He'd  cook  a  slice  of  halibut  so  you  wouldn't  know  it  from  beef- 
steak." 

"  Dear  me  !  how  did  he  do  it  ?'  asked  Aunt  Maria,  who  had  a  fancy  for 
kitchen  mysteries. 

"  Never  could  find  out,"  said  Glover,  stepping  adroitly  out  of  his  difficulty. 
"Don't  s'pose  that  nigger  would  a  let  on  how  he  did  it  for  ten  dollars." 

"  I  should  think  the  receipt  would  be  worth  ten  dollars,"  observed  Aunt 
Maria  thoughtfully. 

"Not  'xactly  here,"  returned  the  captain,  with  one  of  his  dried  smiles,  which 
had  the  air  of  having  been  used  a  great  many  times  before.  "  Halibut  too 
skurce.  Wal,  I  was  goin'  to  tell  ye  'bout  this  nigger.  He  come  to  be  the  cook 
he  was  because  he  was  a  big  eater.  We  was  wrecked  once,  'n'  had  to  live  three 
days  on  old  shoes  'n'  that  sort  'f  truck.  Wal,  this  nigger  was  so  darned  raven- 
ous he  ate  up  a  pair  o'  long  boots  in  the  time  it  took  me  to  git  down  one  'f  the 
straps." 

"  Ate  up  a  pair  of  boots  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria,  amazed  and  almost  incred- 
ulous. 

"Yes,  by  thunder !"  insisted  the  captain,  "grease,  nails, 'n'  all.  An'  ther 
went  at  the  patent  leather  forepiece  'f  his  cap." 


^  OVERLAND.  49 

"What  privations  !"  said  Vunt  Maria,  staring  fit  to  burst  her  spectacles. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  chi.ckled  Glover.  "I'll  tell  ye  suthin'  some  lime  that 
'11  astonish  ye.     But  jess  now  I'm  sleepy,  'n'  I  guess  I'll  turn  in." 

"Mr.  Cluvver,  it  is  your  durn  on  card  do-niglil,''  interposed  Meyer^^  the  Ger- 
\ man  sergeant,  as  llie  captain  was  about  to  roll  Iiimself  in  his  blankets. 

"So  'tis,  returned  Glover  in  well  feigned  astonishment.  "  Don't  forgit  a  fel- 
ler, do  ye.  Sergeant  ?  How  'n  the  world  do  ye  keep  the  'count  so  straight  ?  Oh, 
got  a  little  book  there,  hey,  with  all  our  names  down.  Wal,  that's  shipshape. 
You'd  make  a  pooty  good  mate,  Sergeant.     When  does  my  watch  begin  ? " 

"  Right  away.  You're  always  on  the  virst  relief.  You'll  fall  in  down  there 
at  the  gorner  of  the  vagon  bark." 

»' Wal — yes— s'pose  I  will,"  sighed  the  skipper,  as  he  rolled  up  his  blankets 
and  prepared  for  two  hours'  sentry  duty. 

Let  us  look  into  the  arrangements  for  the  protection  of  the  caravan.  With 
Coronado's  consent  Thurstane  had  divided  the  eighteen  Indians  and  Mexicans, 
four  soldiers,  Texas  Smith,  and  Glover,  twenty-four  men  in  all,  into  tliree  equal 
squads,  each  composed  of  a  sergeant,  corporal,  and  six  privates.  Meyer  was 
sergeant  of  one  squad,  the  Irish  veteran  Kelly  had  another,  and  Texas  Smith 
the  third.  Every  night  a  detachment  went  on  duty  in  three  reliefs,  each  relief 
consisting  of  two  men,  who  stood  sentry  for  two  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
they  were  relieved  by  two  others. 
r^  The  six  wagons  were  always  parked  in  an  oblong  square,  one  at  each  end 
and  two  on  each  side  ;  but  in  order  to  make  the  central  space  large  enough  for 
camping  purposes,  they  were  placed  several  feet  apart ;the  gaps  being  closed 
with  lariats,  tied  from  wheel  to  wheel,  to  pen  in  the  animals  and  keep  out  charge* 
of  Apache  cavalry.  On  either  flank  of  this  enclosure,  and  twenty  yards  or  s& 
distant  from  it,  paced  a  sentry.  Every  two  hours,  as  we  have  said,  they  were  re- 
lieved, and  in  the  alternate  hours  the  posts  were  visited  by  the  sergeant  or  cor- 
poral of  the  guard,  who  took  turns  in  attending  to  this  service.  The  squad  that 
came  off  duty  in  the  morning  was  allowed  during  the  day  to  take  naps  in  the 
wagons,  and  was  not  put  upon  the  harder  camp  labor,  such  as  gathering  fire- 
wood, going  for  water,  etc. 

The  two  ladies  and  the  Indian  women  slept  at  night  in  the  wagons,  not  only 
because  the  canvas  tops  protected  them  from  wind  and  dew,  but  also  because 
the  wooden  sides  would  shield  them  from  arrows.  The  men  who  were  not  on 
guard  lay  under  the  vehicles  so  as  to  form  a  cordon  around  the  mules.  Thur- 
stane and  Coronado,  the  two  chiefs  of  this  armed  migration,  had  their  alternate 
nights  of  command,  each  when  off  duty  sleeping  in  a  special  wagon  known  as 
"headquarters,"  but  holding  himself  ready  to  rise  at  once  in  case  of  an  alarm. 
T"^  The  cooking  fires  were  built  away  from  the  park,  and  outside  the  beats  of  the 
sentries.  The  object  was  twofold:  first,  to  keep  sparks  from  lighting  on  the 
w.igon  covers  ;  second,  to  hide  the  sentries  from  prowling  archers.  At  night 
you  can  see  everything  between  yourself  and  a  fire,  but  nothing  beyond  it.  As 
long  as  the  wood  continued  to  blaze,  the  most  adroit  Indian  skulker  could  not 
approach  the  camp  without  exposing  himself,  while  the  guards  and  the  garrison 
were  veiled  from  his  sight  by  a  wall  of  darkness  behind  a  dazzle  of  light. 

Such  were  the  bivouac  arrangements,  intelligent,  systematic,  and  military. 
Not  only  had  our  Lieutenant  devised  them,  but  he  saw  to  it  that  they  were  kept 
in  working  order.     He  was  zealously  and  faithfully  seconded  by  his  men,  and  es- 
pecially by  his  two  veterans.     There  is  no  human  machine  more  accurate  and 
(^trustworthy  than  an  old  soldier,  who  has  had  year  on  year  of  the  discipline  and 


50  OVERLAND. 

drill  of  a  regular  service,  and  who  has  learned  to  carry  out  instructions  to  the 
letter. 

The  arrangements  for  the  march  were  equally  thorough  and  judicious.  Tex- 
as Smith,  as  the  Nimrod  of  the  party,  claimed  the  right  of  going  where  he 
pleased ;  but  while  he  hunted,  he  of  course  served  also  as  a  scout  to  nose  out 
danger.  The  six  Mexicans,  who  were  nominally  cattle-drivers,  but  really  Coro- 
nado's  minor  bravos,  were  never  suffered  to  ride  off  in  a  bodv,  and  were  ex- 
•jected  to  keep  on  both  sides  of  the  train,  some  in  advance  and  some  in  rear. 
The  drivers  and  muleteers  remained  steadily  with  their  wagons  and  animals* 
T!.e  four  soldiers  were  also  at  hand,  trudging  close  in  front  or  in  rear,  accoutre- 
l^ients  always  on  and  muskets  always  loaded. 

In  this  fashion  the  expedition  had  already  journeyed  over  two  hundred  and 
tv/enty  miles.  Following  Colonel  Washington's  trail,  it  had  crossed  tlie  ranges 
of  mountains  immediately  west  of  Abiquia,  and,  striking  the  Kio  de  Chaco,  had 
tracked  its  course  for  some  distance  with  the  hope  of  reaching  the  San  Juan. 
Stopped  by  a  canon,  a  precipitous  gully  hundreds  of  feet  deep,  through  which 
the  Chaco  ran  like  a  chased  devil,  the  wagons  had  turned  westward,  and  then 
had  been  forced  by  impassable  ridges  and  lack  of  water  into  a  southwest  direc- 
tion, at  last  gaining  and  crossing  Pass  Wasliington. 

It  was  now  on  the  western  side  of  the  Sierra  de  Chusca,  in  the  rude,  barren 
country  over  which  Fort  Defiance  stands  sentry.  Ever  since  tlie  second  day  af- 
ter leaving  San  Isidoro  it  had  been  on  the  great  western  slope  of  tlie  continent, 
where  every  drop  of  water  tends  toward  tlie  Pacific.  The  pilgrims  would  have 
had  cause  to  rejoice  could  they  have  travelled  as  easily  as  the  drops  of  water,  and 
been  as  certain  of  their  goal.  But  the  rivers  had  made  roads  for  themselves,  and 
man  had  not  yet  had  time  to  do  likewise. 
f~  The  great  central  plateau  of  North  America  is  a  Mer  de  Glace  in  stone.  It 
is  a  continent  of  rock,  gullied  by  furious  rivers  ;  plateau  on  plateau  of  sandstone, 
with  sluiceways  through  which  lakes  have  escaped  ;  the  whole  surface  giganti- 
cally grotesque  with  the  carvings  of  innumerable  waters.  What  is  remarkable 
in  the  scenery  is,  that  its  sublimity  is  an  inversion  of  the  sublimity  of  almost  all 
other  grand  scenery.  It  is  not  so  much  the  heights  that  are  prodigious  as  the 
abysses.  At  certain  points  in  the  course  of  the  Colorado  of  the  West  you  can 
drop  a  plumb  line  six  thousand  feet  before  it  will  reach  the  bosom  of  the  cur- 
rent ;  and  you  can  only  gain  the  water  level  b}"  turning  backward  for  scores  of 
miles  and  winding  laboriously  down  some  subsidiary  canon,  itself  a  chasm  of 
i^  awful  grandeur. 

Our  travellers  were  now  amid  wild  labyrinths  of  ranges,  and  buttes,  and  ca- 
fions,  which  were  not  so  much  a  portion  of  the  great  plateau  as  they  were  the 
debris  that  constituted  its  flanks.  Although  thousands  of  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  they  still  had  thousands  of  feet  to  ascend  before  they  could  dominate 
the  desert.  Wild  as  the  land  was,  it  was  thus  far  passable,  while  toward  the 
north  lay  the  untraversable.  What  course  should  be  taken  ?  Coronado,  who 
had  crimes  to  commit  and  to  conceal,  did  not  yet  feel  that  he  was  far  enough 
from  the  haunts  of  man.  As  soon  as  possible  he  must  again  venture  a  push 
northward. 

But  not  immediately.  The  roules  were  fagged  with  hard  work,  weak  with 
want  of  sufficient  pasture,  and  had  suffered  much  from  thirst.  He  resolved  to 
continue  westward  to  the  pueblas  of  the  Moquis,  that  interesting  lace  of  agri- 
cultural and  partially  civilized  Indians,  perhaps  the  representatives  of  the  archi- 
tects of  the  Casas  Grandes  if  not  also  descended  from  the  mound-builders  of  the 


OVERLAxND.  51 

Mississippi  valley.  Having  rested  and  refuted  there,  he  might  start  anew  for 
the  San  Juan. 
1^  Tluis  far  tliey  liad  seen  no  Indians  except  the  vagrants  who  luad  robhed  Pliin- 
eas  Glover.  But  they  niiglit  now  e.xpect  to  meet  them  ;  tliey  were  in  a  regiot 
which  was  the  raiding  ground  of  four  great  tribes  :  the  Utes  on  the  north,  the 
Navajos  on  the  west,  the  Apaches  on  the  south,  and  the  Comanclies  on  the  east. 
The  peaceful  and  industrious  Moquis,  with  their  gay  and  warm  blankets,  their 
fields  of  corn  and  beans,  and  their  f1oci<s  of  slieep,  are  l!ie  quarry  which  attracts 
V_lhis  ferocious  cavalry  of  the  desert,  these  Tartars  and  Bedouin  of  America. 

Tluirstane  took  more  pains  tlian  ever  with  the  guard  duty.  Coronado,  un- 
military  tliough  he  was,  and  heartily  as  he  abominated  the  Lieutenant,  saw  the 
wisdom  of  submitting  to  the  hitter's  discipline,  and  made  all  his  people  submit. 
A  practical-minded  man.  he  preferred  to  owe  the  safely  of  his  carcass  to  his  rival 
rather  than  have  it  impaled  on  Apache  lances.  Occasionally,  however,  he  made 
a  suggestion. 

"  It  is  very  well,  this  niglit-watching,"  he  once  oljserved,  "but  what  we  have 
most  to  fear  is  the  open  daylight.  These  mounted  Indians  seldom  attack  in  the 
darkness." 

Thurslane  knew  all  this,  but  he  did  not  say  so  ;  for  he  was  a  wise,  consider- 
ate commander  already,  and  he  had  learned  not  to  chill  an  informant.  He 
looked  at  Coronado  inquiringly,  as  if  to  say,  What  do  you  propose  ? 

"Every  canon  ought  to  be  explored  before  we  enter  il,"  continued  the  Mexi- 
can. 

"  It  is  a  good  hint,"  said  Ralph.  "  Suppose  I  keep  two  of  your  cattle  drivers 
constantly  in  advance.  You  had  better  instruct  them  yourself.  Tell  them  to 
fire  the  moment  they  discover  an  ambush.  I  don't  suppose  they  will  liit  any- 
body, but  we  want  the  warning." 

With  two  horsemen  three  or  four  hundred  yards  to  the  front,  two  more  an 
equal  distance  in  the  rear,  and,  when  the  ground  permitted,  one  on  either  flank, 
the  train  continued  its  journey.  Every  wagon-driver  and  muleteer  had  a  weapon 
of  some  sort  always  at  hand.  The  four  soldiers  marched  a  few  rods  in  advance, 
for  the  ground  behind  had  already  been  explored,  while  that  ahead  might  con- 
tain enemies.  The  precautions  were  extraordinary ;  but  Thurstane  constantly 
trembled  for  Clara.  He  would  have  thought  a  regiment  hardly  sufficient  to 
guard  such  a  treasure. 

"  How  timorous  these  men  are,"  sniffed  Aunt  Maria,  who,  having  seen  no 
hostile  Indians,  did  not  believe  there  were  any.  "  And  it  seems  to  me  that  sol- 
diers are  more  easily  scared  than  anybody  else,"  she  added,  casting  a  depreciat- 
ing glance  at  Thurstane,  who  was  reconnoitring  the  landscape  through  his  field 
glass. 

Clara  believed  in  men.  and  especially  in  soldiers,  and  more  particularly  in 
lieutenants.     Accordingly  she  replied,  "  I  su|)pose  they  know  the  dangers  and  we 
don't." 
I  "  Pshaw ! "  said  Aunt  Maria,  an  argument  which  carried  great  weight  with 

[_  her.  "  They  don't  know  half  what  they  claim  to.  It  is  a  clever  man  who  knows 
one-tenth  of  his  own  business."  (She  was  right  there.)  "They  don't  know  so 
much,  I  verily  and  solemnly  believe,  as  the  women  whom  they  pretend  to  de- 
spise." 
p  This  peaceful  and  cheering  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  shot  ringing 
'  out  of  a  caflon  which  opened  into  a  range  of  rock  some  three  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  the  caravan.     Immediately  on  the  shot  came  a  yell  as  of  a  hundred  de- 


L 


2  OVERLAND. 

ijons,  a  furious  trampling  of  the  feet  of  many  horses,  and  a  cloud  of  the  Tartar* 
jf  the  American  desert. 

In  advance  of  the  rush  flew  the  two  Mexican  vedettes,  screaming  "  Apaches  ! 
Apaches ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

Whex  the  Apache  tornado  burst  out  of  the  canon  upon  the  train,  Thurstane'9 
first  thought  was,  "  Clara  !  " 

*'  Get  off!  "  he  shouted  to  her,  seizing  and  holding  her  startled  horse.  "  Into 
the  wagon,  quick  !     Now  lie  down,  both  of  you." 

He  thundered  all  this  out  as  sternly  as  if  he  were  commanding  troops.  Be- 
cause he  was  a  man,  Clara  obeyed  him  ;  and  notwithstanding  he  was  a  man,  Mr.s. 
Stanley  obeyed  him.  Both  were  so  bewildered  with  surprise  and  terror  as  to  be 
in  a  kind  of  animal  condition  of  spirit,  knowing  just  enough  to  submit  at  once  to 
the  impulse  of  an  imperious  voice.  The  riderless  horse,  equally  frightened  and 
equally  subordinate,  was  hurried  to  the  rear  of  the  leading  wagon  and  handed 
over  to  a  muleteer. 

By  the  time  this  work  was  done  the  foremost  riders  of  the  assailants  were 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  head  of  the  train,  letting  drive  their  arrows  at 
the  flying  Mexican  vedettes  and  uttering  jells  fit  to  raise  the  dead,  while  their  com- 
rades behind,  whooping  also,  stormed  along  under  a  trembling  and  flickering  of 
lances.  The  little,  lean,  wiry  horses  were  going  at  full  speed,  regardless  of 
smooth  faces  of  rock  and  beds  of  loose  stones.  The  blackguards  were  over  a 
hundred  in  number,  al!  lancers  and  archers  of  the  first  quality, 
r  The  vedettes  never  pulled  up  until  they  were  in  rear  of  the  hindermost 
wagon,  while  tlieir  countrymen  on  the  flanks  and  rear  made  for  the  same  poor 
shelter.  The  drivers  were  crouching  almost  under  their  seats,  and  the  mule- 
teers were  hiding  behind  their  animals.  Thus  it  was  evident  that  the  entire 
brunt  of  the  opening  struggle  would  fall  upon  Thurstane  and  his  people  ;  that, 
if  there  was  to  be  any  resistance  at  all,  these  five  men  must  commence  it,  and, 
I    for  a  while  at  least,  "go  it  alone." 

The  little  squad  of  regulars,  at  this  moment  a  few  yards  in  front  of  the  fore- 
most wagon,  was  drawn  up  in  line  and  standing  steady,  precisely  as  if  it  were  a 
company  or  a  regiment.  Sergeant  Meyer  was  on  the  right,  veteran  Kelly  on 
the  left,  the  two  recruits  in  the  centre,  the  pieces  at  a  shoulder,  the  bayonets 
fixed.  As  Thurstane  rode  up  to  this  diminutive  line  of  battle,  Meyer  was 
shouting  forth  his  sharp  and  decisive  orders.  They  were  just  the  right  orders  ; 
excited  as  the  young  officer  was,  he  comprehended  that  there  was  nothing  to 
chano-e  ;  moreover,  he  had  already  learned  how  men  are  disconcerted  in  battle 
by  a  multiplicity  of  directions.  So  he  sat  quietly  on  his  horse,  revolver  in  hand, 
his  blue-black  eyes  staring  angrily  at  the  coming  storm. 

"  Kelly,  reserfe  your  fire  !  "  yelled  Meyer.  "  Recruits,  ready — bresent — aim 
— aim  low — fire  !  " 

Simultaneously  with  the  report  a  horse  in  the  leading  group  of  charging  sav- 
ages pitched  headlong  on  his  nose  and  rolled  over,  sending  his  rider  straight 
forward  into  a  rubble  of  loose  shales,  both  lying  as  they  fell,  without  movement. 
Haifa  dozen  other  animals  either  dropped  on  their  haunches  or  sheered  vio- 
lently to  the  right  and  left,  going  off  in  wild  plunges  and  caracolings.  By  this 
one  casualty  the  head  of  the  attacking  column  was  opened  and  its  seemingly  re- 


OVERLAND.  53 

Bistless  impetus  cliecked  and  dissiputeJ,  almost  before  Meyer  could  shout,  "  Re- 
cruits, load  at  will,  load  !  " 

rA  moment  previous  tliis  fiery  cavalry  had  looked  irresistible.  It  seemed  to 
have  in  it  momentum,  audacity,  and  dash  enou<;h  to  break  a  square  of  infantry 
or  carry  a  battery  of  artillery.  The  horses  fairly  flew  ;  the  riders  had  the  air  of 
centaurs,  so  firm  and  grac«  'ul  was  the'.r  seal ;  the  long  lances  were  brandished 
as  easily  as  if  by  the  handj  of  footmen  ;  the  bows  were  managed  and  the  arrows 
sent  with  dazzling  dexterity.  It  was  a  show  of  brilliant  equestrianism,  surpass- 
ing the  feats  of  circus  riders.  liut  a  single  elTective  shot  into  tlie  centre  of  the 
column  had  cleft  it  as  a  rock  divides  a  torrent.  It  was  like  the  breaking  of  a 
f      water-spout. 

The  attack,  however,  had  only  commenced.  Tl.e  Indians  who  had  swept  off 
to  right  and  left  went  scouring  along  the  now  motionless  train,  at  a  distance  of 
si.\ty  or  eighty  yards,  rapidly  enveloping  it  with  their  wild  caperings,  keeping  in 
constant  motion  so  as  to  evade  gunshots,  threatening  with  their  lances  or  dis- 
charging arrows,  and  yelling  incessantly.  Their  main  object  so  far  was  un- 
doubtedly to  frighten  tiie  mules  into  a  stampede  and  thus  separate  the  wagons. 
They  were  not  assaulting  ;  they  were  watching  for  chances. 

"Keep  your  men  together,  Sergeant,"  said  Thurstane.  "  I  must  get  those 
Mexicans  to  work." 

He  trotted  deliberately  to  the  other  end  of  the  train,  ordering  each  driver  a.s 
he  passed  to  move  up  abreast  of  the  leading  wagon,  directing  the  first  to  the 
right,  the  second  to  the  left,  and  so  on.  The  result  of  this  movement  would  of 
course  be  to  bring  the  train  into  a  compact  mass  and  render  it  more  defensible. 
The  Indians  no  sooner  perceived  the  advance  than  they  divined  its  object  and 
made  an  effort  to  prevent  it.  Thurstane  had  scarcely  reached  the  centre 
of  the  line  of  vehicles  when  a  score  or  so  of  yelling  horsemen  m.ade  a  caracoling, 
prancing  charge  upon  him,  accompanying  it  with  a  flight  of  arrows.  Our  young 
hero  presented  his  revolver,  but  they  apparently  knew  the  sliort  range  of  the 
weapon,  and  came  plunging,  curveting  onward.  Matters  were  growing  serious, 
for  an  arrow  already  stuck  in  his  saddle,  and  another  had  passed  through  his  hat. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  bang,  bang  of  firearms,  and  two  of  the  savages  went 
down. 

Meyer  had  observed  the  danger  of  his  officer,  and  had  ordered  Kelly  to  fire, 
blazing  away  too  himself.  There  was  a  headlong,  hasty  scramble  to  carry  off 
the  fallen  warriors,  and  then  the  assailants  swept  back  to  a  point  beyond  accu- 
rate musket  shot.  Thurstane  reached  the  rear  of  the  train  unhurt,  and  found 
X"  the  six  Mexican  cattle-drivers  there  in  a  group,  pointing  their  rifles  at  such  In- 
dians as  made  a  show  of  charging,  but  otherwise  doing  nothing  which  resembled 
fighting.  They  were  obviously  panic-stricken,  one  or  two  of  them  being  of  an 
ashy-yellow,  their  nearest  possible  approach  to  pallor.  There,  too,  was  Coro- 
nado,  looking  not  exactly  scared,  but  irresolute  and  helpless. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  Thurstane  stormed  in  Spanish.  "Why  don't  you 
shoot  the  devils?" 

''  We  are  reserving  our  fire,"  stammered  Coronado,  half  alarmed,  half  ashamed. 

Thurstane  swore  briefly,  energetically,  and  to  the  point.     "  Damned  pretty 
fighting  !  "  he  went  on.     "  K  we  had  reserved  our  fire,  we  should  all  have  been 
L-  lanced  by  this  time.     Let  drive  !  " 

The  cattle-drivers  carried  short  rifles,  of  the  then  United  States  regulation 
pattern,  which  old  Garcia  had  somehow  contrived  to  pick  up  during  the  war 
perhaps  buying  them  of  drunken  soldiers.     Supported    by  Thurstane's  pugna- 


54  OVERLAND. 

cious  presence  and  hurried  up  by  his  veliemenl.  orders,  they  began  to  fire. 
/i  They  were  shaky;  didn't  aim  very  well;  hardly  aimed  at  all,  in  fact;  blazed  . 
away  at  extraordinary  elevations  ;  behaved  as  men  do  wlio  have  become  demoral- 
ized. However,  as  the  pieces  had  a  range  of  several  hundred  yards,  the  small 
bullets  hissed  venomously  over  the  heads  of  the  Indians,  and  one  of  them,  by  pure 
accident,  brought  down  a  horse.  There  was  an  immediaie  scattering,  a  n^ulii- 
tudinous  glinting  of  hoofs  through  the  light  dust  of  the  plain,  and  then  a  rally  in 
l_^  prancing  groups,    at  a  safe  distance. 

r^  "Hurrah!"  sliouted  Thurstane,  cheering  the  Mexicans.  "  That's  rery  well. 
You  see  how  easy  it  is.  Now  don't  let  tliem  sneak  up  again  ;  and  at  llie  same 
time  don't  w^aste  powder." 

Then  turning  to  one  who  was  near  him,  and  who  had  just  reloaded,  he  said  in 
a  calm,  strong,  encouraging  tone — that  voice  of  the  tlioroughly  good  officer 
which  comes  to  the  help  of  the  shaken  soldier  like  a  reinforcement — "  Now,  my 
lad,  steadily.  Pick  out  your  man  ;  take  your  time  and  aim  sure.  Do  you  see 
him?" 

"  Si,  senor,"  replied  the  herdsman.  His  coolness  restored  by  this  steady 
utterance  and  these  plain,  common-sense  directions,  he  selected  a  wanior  in 
helmet-shaped  cap,  blue  shirt,  and  long  boots,  brought  his  rifle  slowly  to  a  level, 
took  sight,  and  fired.  The  Indian  bent  forward,  caught  the  mane  of  his  plunging 
pony,  hung  there  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then  rolled  to  the  ground,  amid  a  yel| 
of  surprise  and  dismay  from  his  comrades.  There  was  a  hasty  rush  to  secure 
I     the  body,  and  then  another  sweep  backward  of  tlie  loose  array. 

"  Good  !  "  called  Thurstane,  nodding  and  smiling  at  the  successful  marksman. 
"That  is  the  v/ay  to  do  it.  You  are  a  match  for  half  a  dozen  of  them  as  long  as 
you  will  keep  cool." 

The  besieged  travellers  could  now  look  about  quietly  and  see  how  matters 
stood  with  them.  Tiie  six  wagons  were  by  this  tin.ie  drawn  up  in  two  ranks  of 
three  each,  so  as  to  form  a  compact  mass.  As  the  one  which  contained  the 
ladies  had  been  the  leader  and  the  others  had  formed  on  it  to  right  and  left,  it 
■was  in  the  centre  of  the  first  rank,  and  consequently  pretty  well  protected  by  its 
neighbors.  The  drivers  and  muleteers  had  recovered  their  self-possession,  and 
were  all  sitting  or  standing  at  their  posts,  with  their  miscellaneous  arms  ready 
for  action.  Not  a  human  being  had  been  hit  as  yet,  and  only  three  of  the  mules 
wounded,  none  of  them  seriously.  The  Apaches  were  all  around  the  train,  but 
none  of  them  nearer  than  two  hundred  yards,  and  doing  nothing  but  canter  about 
and  shout  to  each  other. 

"Where  is  Texas  Smith  ?"  demanded  Thurstane,  missing  that  mighty  hunt- 
er, and  wondering  if  he  were  a  coward  and  had  taken  refuge  in  a  Avagon. 

"  He  went  off  shutin'  an  hour  ago,"  explained  Phineas  Glover.  "  Reckon  he's 
astern  somewhere." 

Glover,  by  the. way,  had  been  useful.  In  the  beginning  of  the  affray  he  had 
brought  his  mule  alongside  of  the  headmost  wagon,  and  there  he  had  done  really 
valuable  service  by  blazing  away  alarmingly,  though  quite  innocuously,  at  the  gal- 
lopading  enemy. 

"  It's  a  bad  lookout  for  Texas,"  observed  the  Lieutenant.  "  I  shouldn't  want 
to  bet  high  on  his  getting  back  to  us." 

Coronado  looked  g'oomy,  fearing  lest  his  trusted  assassin  was  lost,  and  not 
knowing  where  he  could  pick  up  such  another. 

"And  how  are  the  ladies  ?"  asked  Thurstane,  turning  to  Glover. 

"  Safe  's  a  bug  in  a  rug,"  was  the  reply.  "  Seen  to  that  litde  job  myself 
Not  a  bugger  in  the  hull  crew  been  nigh  'em." 


OVERLAND.  65 

Thurstane  cantered  aroiuul  to  the  front  of  llie  wagon  which  contained  the 
two  women,  and     calleil,   '*  How  are  you  ?" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  there  was  a  rustle  inside,  and  Clara  showed  her 
face  over  the  shouMer  of  the  driver. 
r      "  So  you  were  not  hurt  ? "  laughed  tlie  young  officer.     "  Ah  !  that's  bully." 
'         With  a  smile  which  was  almost  a  boast,  she  answered,  "  And  I  was  not  very 
friglitened." 

At  this.  Aunt  Mari.i  strug;;led  from  between  two  rolls  of  bedding  into  a  sit 
\     ting  posture  and  ejaculated,  "Of  course  not  !  " 

*•  Did  they  liit  you  ?  "  asked  Clara,  looking  eagerly  at  Thurstane. 
"  Kow  brave  you  are!"  he  replied,  admiring  her  so  much  that  he  did  not 
notice  her  question. 

'•  But  I  do  hope  it  is  over,"  added  the  girl,  poking  her  head  out  of  tlie  wagon. 
'*  Ah  !  what  is  that .'  " 

With  this  little  cry  of  dismay  she  pointed  at  a  group  of  savages  who  had 
gathered  between  the  train  and  the  mouth  of  tlie  caflon  aliead  of  it. 

"They  are  the  enemy,"  said  Thurstane.  "We  may  have  anotlier  little  tussle 
with  them.     Now  lie  down  and  keep  close." 

"Acquit  yourselves  like — men!"  exhorted  Aunt  Maria,  dropping  back  into 
her  stronghold  among  the  bedding. 

Sergeant  Meyer  now  approached  Thurstane,  touched  his  cap,  and  said,  "  Lef- 
tenant,  here  is  brifate  Sweeny  who  has  not  fired  his  beece  once.  I  cannot  make 
him  nre." 

"How  is  that,  Sweeny?"  demanded  the  officer,  putting  on  the  proper  grim- 
ness.  "  Why  haven't  you  fired  when  you  were  ordered  ? " 
r*  Sweeny  was  a  little  wizened  shaving  of  an  Irishman.  He  was  not  only  quite 
short,  but  very  slender  and  very  lean.  He  had  a  curious  teetering  gait,  and  he 
took  ridiculously  short  steps  in  marching,  as  if  he  were  a  monkey  who  had  not 
learned  to  feel  at  ease  on  his  liind  legs.  His  small,  wilted,  wrinkled  Aice,  and  his 
expression  of  mingled  sim]ilicity  and  shrewdness,  were  also  monkey-like.  At 
Thurstane's  reprimand  he  trotted  close  up  to  him  with  exactly  the  air  of  a  circus 
Jocko  who  expects  a  whipping,  but  who  hopes  to  escape  it  by  grinning. 
"Why  haven't  you  fired  .-•"  repeated  his  commander. 

"  Liftinint,  I  dasn't,"  answered  Sweeny,  in  tlie  rapid,  jerking,  almost  inarticu- 
late jabber  which  was  his  usual  speech. 

Now  it  is  not  an  uncommon  tiling  for  recruits  to  dread  to  discharge  their 
arms  in  battle.  They  have  a  vague  idea  that,  if  they  bang  away,  they  will  at- 
tract the  notice  of  some  antagonist  who  will  immediately  single  them  out  for 
retaliation. 

"Are  you  afraid  anybody  will  hit  you  .-' "  asked  Thurstane. 
"  No,  I  ain't,  Lit'tinint,"  jabbered  Sweeny.     "  I  ain't  afeard  av  them  niggers  a 
bit.     They  may  shoot  their  bow  arreys  at  me  all  day  if  they  want  to.     I'm  afeard 
of  me  gun,  Liftinint.     I  fired  it  wonst,  an'  it  kicked  me  to  blazes." 

"  Come,  come  !  That  won't  do.  Level  it  now.  Tick  out  your  man.  Aim. 
Fire." 

Thus  constrained.  Sweeny  brought  his  piece  down  to  an  inclination  of  forty- 
five  degrees,  shut  his  eyes,  pulled  trigger,  and  sent  a  ball  clean  over  the  most 
distant  .Apaches.  The  recoil  staggered  him,  but  he  recovered  himself  without 
going  over,  and  instantly  roared  out  a  horse-laugh. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  he  shouted.     "  That  time  I  reckon  I  fetched  won  av  'em. 


u 


56  OVERLAND. 

"Sween}-,"  said  Thurstane,  "you  must  have  hit  either  the  sun  cr  the  moon, 
I  don't  know  which." 

Sweeny  looked  discomfited  ;  the  next  breath  he  bethought  himself  of  a  sav- 
ing joke  :  "  Liftinint,  it  'ud  sarve  erry  won  av  'em  right ; "  then  another  neigh  of 
laughter. 

"  I  ain't  afeard  av  the  ball,"  he  hastened  to  asseverate  ;  "it's  the  kick  av  it 
that  murthers  me.  Liftinint,  why  don't  they  put  the  britch  to  the  other  end  av 
the  gun  .'*     They  do  in  the  owld  counthry." 

'•  Load  your  beece,"  ordered  Sergeant  Meyer,  "and  go  to  your  bost  again,  to 
the  left  of  Shupert." 

The  fact  of  Sweeny's  opening  fire  did  not  cause  a  resumption  of  the  close 
fighting.  Quiet  still  continued,  and  the  leaders  of  the  expedition  took  advan- 
tage of  it  to  discuss  their  situation,  while  the  Indians  gathered  into  little  groups 
and  seemed  also  to  be  holding  council. 

"There  are  over  a  hundred  warriors,"  said  Thurstane. 

"Apaches,"  added  one  of  the  Mexican  herdsmen. 

"What  band?"  ' 

"Manga  Colorada  or  Delgadito." 

"  I  supposed  they  were  in  Bernalillo." 

"That  was  three  weeks  ago,"  put  in  Coronado. 

He  was  in  profound  thought.  These  fellows,  who  had  agreed  lo  harry  Ber- 
nalilJo,  and  who  had  for  a  time  carried  out  their  bargain,  why  had  they  come  to 
intercept  him  in  the  Moqui  country,  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  away  .-^  Did 
they  want  to  extort  more  money,  or  were  they  ignorant  that  this  was  his  train  ? 
And,  supposing  he  should  make  himself  known  to  them,  would  tliey  spare  him 
personally  and  such  others  as  he  might  wish  to  save,  while  massacring  the  rest 
of  the  party  ?  It  would  be  a  bold  step  ;  he  could  not  at  once  decide  upon  it ;  he 
was  pondering  it. 
r  We  must  do  full  justice  to  Coronado's  coolness  and  readiness.  This  atro- 
cious idea  had  occurred  to  him  the  instant  be  heard  the  charging  yell  of  the 
Apaches  ;  and  it  had  done  far  more  than  any  weakness  of  nerves  to  paralyze  his 
fighting  ability.  He  had  thought,  "  Let  them  kill  the  Yankees  ;  then  I  will  pro- 
claim myself  and  save  her;  then  she  will  be  mine."  And  because  of  these 
thoughts  he  had  stood  irresolute,  aiming  without  firing,  and  bidding  his  Mexi- 
cans do  the  same.  The  result  was  that  six  good  shots  and  superb  horsemen, 
who  were  capable  of  making  a  gallant  fight  under  worthy  leadership,  had  be- 
come demoralized,  and,  but  for  the  advent  of  Thurstane,  might  have  been  mas- 
^sacred  like  sheep. 

Now  that  three  or  four  Apaches  had  fallen,  Coronado  had  less  hope  of  mak- 
ing his  arrangement.  He  considered  the  matter  carefully  and  judiciously,  but 
at  last  he  decided  that  he  could  not  trust  the  vindictive  devils,  and  he  turned  his 
mind  strenuously  toward  resistance.  Altlioii^ih  not  pugnacious,  he  had  plenty 
of  the  desperate  courage  of  necessity,  and  his  dusky  black  eyes  were  very  reso- 
lute as  he  said  to  Thurstane,  "Lieutenant,  we  trust  to  you." 

The  young  veteran  had  alreadv  made  up  his  mind  as  to  what  must  be  done. 

"We  will  move  on,"  he  said.  "  We  can't  camp  here,  in  an  open  plain,  with- 
out grass  or  water.  We  must  get  into  the  canon  so  as  to  have  our  flanks  pro- 
tected. I  want  the  wagons  to  advance  in  double  file  so  as  to  shorten  the  train. 
Two  of  my  men  in  front  and  two  in  rear  ;  three  of  your  herdsmen  on  one  flank 
and  three  on  the  other ;  Captain  Glover  alongside  the  ladies,  and  you  and  ] 
everywhere  ;  that's  the  programme.     If  we  are  all  steady,  we  can  do  it,  sure." 

*'  They  are  collecting  ahead  to  stop  us,"  observed  Coronado. 


OVERLAND.  67 

"Good  !"  s.iid  Tluirslane.  "  All  I  want  is  \o  have  lliem  get  in  a  licap.  It 
is  this  attackinjj  on  all  sides  which  is  dangerous.  Suppose  you  give  your  driv- 
ers and  muleteers  a  sharp  lecture.  Tell  them  they  must  fight  if  the  Indians 
charge,  and  not  skulk  inside  and  under  the  wagons.  Tell  them  we  are  going  to 
shoot  the  first  man  who  skulks.  Pitch  into  them  heavy.  It's  a  devilish  shame 
that  a  dozen  tolerably  well-armed  men  should  be  so  helpless.  It's  enough  to 
justify  tlie  old  woman's  contempt  for  our  sex. 

Coronado  rode  from  wagon  to  wagon,  delivering  his  repropfs,  threats,  and 
instructions  in  the  plainest  kind  of  .Spanish.  At  the  signal  to  march,  the  drivers 
must  file  otT  two  abreast,  commencing  on  the  right,  and  move  at  the  fastest  trot 
oi  the  mules  toward  llie  canon.  If  any  scoundrel  skulked,  quitted  his  post,  or 
failed  to  figlit,  he  would  be  pistolled  instanter  by  him,  Coronado  saiigre  dc  Dios, 
etc. ! 

While  he  was  addressing  Aunt  Maria's  coachman,  that  level-headed  lady 
called  out,  "Mr.  Coronado,  your  very  voice  is  cheering." 

"  Mrs.  Stanley,  you  are  an  example  of  heroism  to  our  sex,"  replied  the  Mex- 
ican, with  an  ironical  grin. 

"What  a  brave,  noble,  intelligent  man.'"  thought  Aunt  Maria.  *'If  they 
were  only  all  like  him  !  " 

This  business  took  up  five  minutes.  Coronado  had  just  finished  his  round 
when  a  loud  yell  was  rai.=;ed  by  the  Apaches,  and  twenty  or  thirty  of  them  started 
at  full  speed  down  the  trail  by  which  the  caravan  had  come.  Looking  for  the 
cause  of  this  stampede,  the  emigrants  beheld,  nearly  half  a  mile  away,  a  single 
horseman  rushing  to  encounter  a  score.  It  was  Texas  Smith,  making  an  appa- 
rently hopeless  rush  to  burst  through  the  environment  of  Parthians  and  reach 
the  train. 

''Shall  we  make  a  sally  to  save  him?"  demanded  Coronado,  glancing  at 
T  hurstane. 

The  officer  hesitated;  to  divide  his  small  army  would  be  perilous;  the 
Apaches  would  attack  on  all  sides  and  with  advantage. 

But  the  sight  of  one  man  so  overmatched  was  too  much  for  him.  and  with  a 
great  throb  of  chivalrous  blood  in  his  heart,  he  shouted,  "Charge  !" 


CHAPTER  XI. 


An  hour  before  the  attack  Texas  Smith  had  ridden  off  to  stalk  a  deer  ;  but 
the  animal  being  in  good  racing  condition  in  consequence  of  the  thin  fare  of  thi.s 
sterile  region,  the  hunting  bout  had  miscarried ;  and  our  desperado  was  return- 


S8  OVERLAND. 

Ing  unladen  toward  the  train  when  he  heard  the  distant  charging  yell  of  the 
Apaches. 

Scattered  over  the  plateau  which  he  was  traversing,  there  were  a  few  thickets 
of  mesquite,  with  here  and  there  a  fantastic  butte  of  sandstone.  By  dodging 
from  one  of  these  covers  to  another,  he  arrived  undiscovered  at  a  point  whence 
he  could  see  the  caravan  and  the  curveting  melie  which  surrounded  it.  He  was 
nearly  half  a  mile  from  his  comrades  and  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  his  near- 
est enemies. 

Wiiat  should  he  do  ?  If  he  made  a  rush,  he  would  probably  be  overpowered 
and  either  killed  instantly  or  carried  ofiffor  torture.  If  he  waited  until  nigiit  for 
a  chance  to  sneak  into  camp,  the  wandering  redskins  would  be  pretty  apt  to  sur- 
prise him  in  the  darkness,  and  there  would  be  small  chance  indeed  of  escaping 
with  his  hair.  It  was  a  nasty  situation  ;  but  Texas,  accustomed  to  perils,  was 
as  brave  as  he  was  wicked  ;  and  he  looked  his  darkling  fate  in  the  face  with  ad- 
mirable coolness  and  intelligence.  His  decision  was  to  wait  a  favorable  moment, 
and  when  it  came,  charge  for  life. 

When  he  perceived  that  the  mass  of  the  Indians  had  gathered  on  the  trail 
between  the  wagoiiS  and  the  caiion,  he  concluded  ihat  his  chance  had  arrived  ; 
and  with  teeth  grimly  set,  rifle  balanced  across  his  saddle-bow,  revolver  slung 
to  his  wrist,  he  started  in  silence  and  at  full  speed  on  his  almost  hopeless  rush. 
If  3'ou  will  cease  to  consider  the  man  as  a  modern  bushwhacker,  and  invest  him 
temporarily  with  the  character,  ennobled  by  time,  of  a  borderer  of  the  Scottish 
marches,  you  will  be  able  to  feel  some  sympathy  for  him  in  his  audacious  enter- 
prise. 

He  was  mounted  on  an  American  horse,  a  half-blood  gray,  large-boned  and 
powerful,  -who  could  probably  have  traversed  the  half-mile  in  a  minute  had  there 
been  no  impediment,  and  who  was  able  to  floor  with  a  single  shock  two  or  three 
of  the  little  animals  of  the  Apaches.  He  was  a  fine  spectacle  as  he  thundered 
alone  across  the  plain,  upright  and  easy  in  his  seat,  balancing  his  heavy  rifle  as 
if  it  were  a  rattan,  his  dark  and  cruel  face  settled  for  fight  and  his  fierce  black 
eyes  blazing. 

Only  a  minute's  ride,  but  that  minute  life  or  death.  As  he  had  expected,  the 
Apaches  discovered  him  almost  as  soon  as  he  left  the  cover  of  his  butte,  and  all 
the  outlving  members  of  th.e  horde  swarmed  toward  him  with  a  yell,  brandishing 
their  spears  and  getting  ready  their  bows  as  they  rode.  It  would  clearly  be  im- 
possible for  him  to  cut  his  way  through  thirty  warriors  unless  he  received  as- 
sistance from  the  train.  Would  it  come  ?  His  evil  conscience  told  him,  without 
the  least  reason,  that  Thurstane  would  not  help.  But  from  Coronado,  whose 
life  he  had  saved  and  whose  evil  work  he  had  undertaken  to  do — from  this  man, 
"greaser"  as  he  was,  he  did  expect  a  sally.  If  it  did  not  come,  and  if  he  should 
escape  by  some  rare  chance,  he,  Texas  Smith,  would  murder  the  Mexican  the 
first  time  he  found  him  alone,  so  help  him  God! 


r 


L' 


OVERLAND.  69 

While  lie  lhoui;lit  aiul  cursed  he  flew.  But  his  goal  was  still  five  luindred 
yards  away,  and  tlie  nearest  redskins  were  witliin  two  hundred  jards,  wlien  he 
saw  a  rescuing  charge  shoot  out  from  the  wagons.  Coronado  led  it.  In  tiiis 
foxy  nature  the  wolf  was  not  wanting,  and  under  strong  impulse  he  could  be 
somewhat  of  a  Pizarro.  He  had  no  starts  of  humanity  nor  of  real  chivalry,  but 
he  had  family  pride  and  personal  vanity,  and  he  was  capable  of  the  fighting  fuiy. 
When  Tluirstane  had  given  llie  word  to  advance,  Coronado  had  put  liimself  fur- 
ward  gallantly. 

"Stay  here,"  he  said  to  the  officer;  "guard  the  train  with  your  infantry.  I 
am  a  cal>allero,  and  I  will  do  a  caballero's  work,"  he  added,  rising  i)rou(lly  in 
his  stirrups.     "  C<ime  on,  you  villains  '  "  was  Iiis  order  to  tlie  six  Mexicans. 

All  abreast,  spread  out  like  a  skirmish  line,  the  seven  horsemen  clattered 
ever  the  plain,  making  for  the  point  where  Texas  Smith  was  about  to  plunge 
among  tiie  whirling  and  caracoling  Apaches. 

Now  came  the  crisis  of  the  day.  Tlie  moment  the  sixty  or  seventy  Apaches 
near  tlie  mouth  of  the  cafion  saw  Coronado  set  out  on  his  charge,  they  raised  a 
yell  of  joy  over  the  error  of  the  emigrants  in  dividing  their  forces,  and  plunged 
straight  at  the  wagons.  In  half  a  minute  two  wild,  irregular,  and  yet  desperate 
combats  were  raging. 

Texas  Smith  had  begun  his  battle  while  Coronado  was  still  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  Aiming  his  rifle  ai  an  Apache  who  was  riding  dircclly  upon  him, 
instead  of  dodging  and  wheeling  in  the  usual  fashion  of  these  cautious  fighters, 
he  sent  the  audacious  fellow  out  of  his  saddle  with  a  bullet-hole  through  the 
lungs.  But  this  was  no  salvation  ;  liie  dreaded  long-range  firearm  was  now 
emi)ty  ;  the  savages  circled  nearer  and  began  to  use  their  arrows.  Texas  let  his 
rifle  hang  from  the  pommel  and  i)resented  his  revolver.  But  the  bowshots  were 
more  than  its  match.  It  could  not  be  trusted  to  do  execution  at  forty  yards,  and 
at  that  distance  the  Indian  shai'ts  are  deadly.  Already  several  had  hissed  close 
by  him,  one  had  gashed  the  forehead  of  his  horse,  and  another  had  pierced  his 
clothing. 

All  that  Texas  wanted,  hov.'ever,  was  time.  If  he  could  pass  a  half  minute 
without  a  disabling  wound,  he  would  have  help.  He  retreated  a  little,  or  rather 
he  edged  away  toward  the  right,  wheeling  and  curveting  after  the  manner  of 
tlie  Apaches,  in  order  to  present  an  unsteady  mark  for  their  archery.  To  keep 
them  at  a  distance  he  fired  one  barrel  of  his  revolver,  though  without  effect. 
Meantime  he  dodged  incessantly,  now  throwing  himself  forward  and  backward 
in  the  saddle,  now  hanging  over  the  side  of  his  horse  and  clinging  to  his  neck. 
It  was  hard  and  perilous  work,  but  he  was  gaining  seconds,  and  every  second 
was  priceless.  Notwithstanding  his  extreme  peril,  he  calculated  his  chances  with 
perfect  coolness  and  with  a  sagacity  which  was  admirable. 

But  this  intelligent  savage  iiad  to  do  with  savages  as  clever  as  himself.  The 
Apaches  saw  Coronado  coming  up  on  their  rear,  and  they  knew  that  they  must 
make  short  work  of  the  hunter,  or  must  let  him  escape.  While  a  score  or  so 
faced  about  to  meet  the  Mexicans,  a  dozen  charged  with  screeches  and  bran- 
dislied  lances  upon  the  Texan.  Now  came  a  hand-to-hand  struggle  which  looked 
as  if  it  must  end  in  the  death  of  Smith  and  perhaps  of  several  of  his  assailants. 
But  cavalry  fights  are  notoriously  bloodless  in  comparison  to  their  apparent  fury  ; 
the  violent  and  perpetual  movement  of  the  combatants  deranges  aim  and  ren- 
ders most  of  the  blows  futile  ;  &liots  are  fired  at  a  yard  distance  without  hitting, 
and  strokes  are  delivered  which  only  wound  the  air. 

One  spear  stuck  in  Smith's  saddle;  another  pierced  his  jackets' eeve  and 


60  OVERLAND. 

fore  its  way  out ;  only  one  of  the  sliarp,  quickly-delivered  points  drew  blood. 
He  felt  a  slight  pain  in  his  side,  and  he  found  afterward  that  a  lance-head  had 
raked  one  of  his  ribs,  tearing  up  the  skin  and  scraping  the  bone  for  four  or  five 
inches.  Meantime  he  shot  a  warrior  tlirough  tlie  head,  sent  another  off  with  a 
hole  in  the  shoulder,  and  fired  one  barrel  without  effect.  He  had  but  a  single 
charge  left  ^saving  this  for  himself  in  the  last  extremity),  when  he  burst  tlirough 
the  prancing  throng  of  screeching,  thrusting  ragamuffins,  and  reached  the  side 
of  Coronado. 

Here  anotlier  hurly-burly  of  rearing  and  plunging  combat  awaited  him.  Cor- 
onado, charging  as  an  old  Castilian  hidalgo  might  have  charged  upon  the  Moors, 
had  plunged  directly  into  the  midst  of  the  Apaches  who  awaited  him,  giving 
them  little  time  to  use  their  arrows,  and  at  first  receiving  no  damage.  The  six 
rifles  of  his  Mexicans  sent  two  Apaches  out  of  their  saddles,  and  then  came  a 
capering,  plunging  joust  of  lances,  both  parties  using  the  same  weapon.     Coro- 

p  nado  alone  had  sabie  and  revolver  ;  and  he  handled  them  both  with  beautiful 
coolness  and  dexterity ;  he  rode,  too,  as  well  as  the  best  of  all  these  other  cen- 
taurs. His  superb  horse  whirled  and  reared  under  the  guidance  of  a  touch  of 
the  knees,  while  the  rider  plied  firearm  with  one  hand  and  sharply  ground  blade 
with  the  other.     TImrstane,  an  infantryman,  and  only  a  fair  equestrian,  would 

/not  have  been  half  so  effective  in  this  combat  of  caballeros. 

Coronado's  first  bullet  knocked  a  villainous-looking  tatterdemalion  clean  into 
the  happy  hunting  grounds.  Tlien  came  a  lance  thrust;  he  parried  it  with  his 
sabre  and  plunged  within  range  of  the  point  ;  tliere  was  a  sharp,  snake-like  hiss 
of  the  light,  curved  blade  ;  down  went  Apache  number  two.  At  this  rate,  pro- 
viding there  were  no  interruptions,  he  could  finish  the  whole  twenty.     He  went 

r  at  his  job  with  a  handy  adroitness  which  was  almost  scientific,  it  was  so  much 
like  surgery,  like  dissection.  His  mind  was  bent,  with  a  sort  of  preternatural 
calmness  and  cleverness,  upon  the  business  of  parrying  lance  thrusts,  aiming  his 
revolver,  and  delivering  sabre  cuts.  It  was  a  species  of  fighting  intellection,  at 
once  prudent  and  destructive.  It  was  not  tl.e  headlong,  reckless,  pugnacious 
rage  of  the  old  Anglo-Saxon  and  Scandinavian  berserker.     It  was  the  practical, 

I    ready,  rational  furor  of  the  Latin  race. 

Presently  he  saw  that  two  of  his  rancheros  had  been  lanced,  and  that  there 
were  but  four  left.  A  thrill  of  alarm,  a  commencement  of  panic,  a  desire  to  save 
himself  at  all  hazards,  crisped  his  heart  and  half  paralyzed  his  energy.  Remem- 
bering with  perfect  distinctness  that  four  of  his  barrels  were  empty,  he  would 
perhaps  have  tried  to  retreat  at  the  risk  of  being  speared  in  the  back,  had  he  not 
at  this  critical  moment  been  joined  by  Texas  Smith. 

That  instinctive,  ferocious,  and  tireless  fighter,  while  seeming  to  be  merely 
circling  and  curveting  among  his  assailants,  contrived  to  recharge  two  barrels 
of  his  revolver,  and  was  once  more  ready  for  business,  Down  went  one  Apache  ; 
then  the  horse  of  another  fell  to  reeling  and  crouching  in  a  sickly  way  ;  then  a 
charge  of  half  a  dozen  broke  to  right  and  left  in  irresolute  prancings.  At  sight 
of  this  friendly  work  Coronado  drew  a  fresh  breath  of  courage,  and  executed  his- 
greatest  feat  yet  of  horsemanship  and  swordsmanship.  Spurring  after  and  then 
past  one  of  the  wheeling  braves,  he  swept  his  sabre  across  the  fellow's  bare 
throat  with  a  drawing  stroke,  and  half  detached  the  scowling,  furious,  frightened 
head  from  the  body. 

There  was  a  wide  space  of  open  ground  before  him  immediately.  The 
Apaches  know  nothing  of  sabre  work  ;  not  one  of  those  present  had  ever  before 
teen  such  a  blow  or  such  an  effect ;  they  were  not  only  panic-stricken,  but  hor- 


OVERLAND.  61/ 

ror  stricken.  For  one  moment,  right  between  tlic  starin;;  antagonists,  a  bloody 
corpse  sat  upri:;l)t  on  a  reaiinj;  liorse,  with  its  head  fallen  on  one  shoulder  and 
hani;ing  by  a  gory  muscle.  The  next  moment  it  wilted,  rolled  downward  with 
outstreched  arms,  and  collapsed  upon  the  gravel,  an  inert  mass. 

Te.xas  Smith  uttered  a  loud  scream  of  tigerish  delight.  He  had  never,  in  all 
his  pugnacious  and  sanguinary  life,  looked  upon  anything  so  fascinating.  If 
seemed  to  him  as  \i  his  heaven — the  savage  Walhalla  of  his  Saxon  or  Danish 
berserker  race — were  opened  before  him.  In  his  ecstasy  he  waved  his  dirty,  long 
fingers  toward  Coronado,  and  shouted,  ''  Cully  for  you,  old  hoss  !  " 

But  he  had  self'-possession  enough,  now  that  his  hand  was  free  for  an  instant 
from  close  battle,  to  reload  his  rifle  and  revolver.  The  four  rancheros  who  still 
retained  their  saddles  mechanically  and  hurriedly  followed  his  exami)le.  The 
contest  here  was  over  ;  the  Apaches  knew  that  bullets  would  soon  be  humming 
about  their  ears,  and  they  dreaded  them  ;  there  was  a  retreat,  and  this  retreat 
was  a  run  of  an  eighth  of  a  mile. 

"Hurrah  for  the  waggins!"  shouted  Texas,  and  dashed  away  townid  the 
train.  Coronado  stared  ;  his  heart  sank  within  him  ;  th.e  train  was  surrounded 
by  a  mob  of  prancing  savages;  there  was  more  fighting  to  be  done  when  he  had 
already  done  his  best.  But  not  knowing  where  else  to  go,  he  followed  his  leader 
toward  this  new  battle,  loading  his  revolver  as  he  rode,  and  wishing  that  he  were 
in  Santa  F^,  or  anywhere  in  peace. 

We  must  go  back  a  little.  As  already  stated,  the  main  body  of  the  Apaches 
had  perceived  the  error  of  the  emigrants  in  separating,  and  had  promptly  availed 
themselves  of  it  to  charge  upon  the  train.  To  attack  it  there  were  seventv  fero- 
cious and  skilful  warriors ;  to  defend  it  there  were  twelve  timorous  muleteers 
and  drivers,  four  soldiers,  and  Ralph. 

"  Fall  back  !  "  shouted  the  Lieutenant  to  his  regulars  wlien  he  saw  the  eques- 
trian avalanche  coming.     "Each  man  take  a  wagon  and  hold  it." 

The  order  was  obeyed  in  a  hurry.  The  Apaches,  heartened  by  what  they 
supposed  to  be  a  panic,  swarmed  along  at  increased  speed,  and  gave  out  their 
most  diabolical  screeches,  hoping  no  doubt  to  scare  men  into  helplessness,  and 
beasts  into  a  stampede.  But  the  train  was  an  immovable  fortress,  and  the  for- 
tress was  well  garrisoned.  Although  the  mules  winced  and  plunged  a  good  deal, 
the  drivers  succeeded  in  holding  them  to  their  places,  and  the  double  column  of 
carriages,  three  in  each  rank,  preserved  its  formation.  In  every  vehicle  there 
was  a  muleteer,  with  hands  free  for  fighting,  bearing  something  or  other  in  the 
shape  of  a  firelock,  and  inspired  with  what  courage  there  is  in  desperation.  The 
four  flankers,  necessarily  the  most  exposed  to  assault,  had  each  a  United  States 
regular,  with  musket,  bayonet,  and  forty  rounds  of  buck  and  ball.  In  front  of 
the  phalanx,  directly  before  the  wagon  which  contained  the  two  ladies,  sat 
as  brave  an  officer  as  there  was  in  the  American  army. 

The  Apaches   had  also  committed    their  tactical  blunder.     They  should  all 

have  followed  Coronado,  made  sure  of  destroying  him  and  h.is  Mexicans,  and 

then  attacked  the  train.     But  either  there  was  no  sagacious  military  spirit  among 

them,  or  the  love  of  plunder  was  too  much  for  judgment  and  authority,  and  so 

I    down  they  came  on  the  wagons. 

As  the  swarthy  swarm  approached,  it  spread  out  until  it  covered  the  front  of 
the  train  and  overlapped  its  flanks,  ready  to  sweep  completely  around  it  and 
fasten  upon  any  point  which  should  seem  feebly  or  timorously  defended.  The 
first  man  endangered  was  the  lonely  officer  who  sat  his  horse  in  front  of  the  lins 
of  kicking  and  plunging  mules.     Fortunately  for  him,  he  now  had  a  weapon  of 


r, 


62  OVERLAND. 

longer  range  than  his  revolver;  he  had  remembered  that  in  one  of  the  wagons 
was  stored  a  peculiar  rifle  belonging  to  Coronado ;  he  had  just  had  time  to  drag 
it  out  and  strap  its  cartridge-box  around  his  waist. 

He  levelled  at  the  centre  of  the  clattering,  yelling  column.  It  fluctuated  ;  the 
•warriors  who  were  there  did  not  like  to  be  aimed  at ;  they  began  to  zigz.ig.  cara- 
cole, and  diverge  to  right  or  left  ;  several  halted  and  commenced  using  their 
bows.  At  one  of  these  arch.ers,  whose  arrow  already  trembled  on  the  string, 
Thurstane  let  fly.  sending  him  out  of  the  saddle.  Tiien  lie  felt  a  quick,  sharp 
pain  in  his  left  arm,  and  perceived  that  a  shaft  h.ad  passed  clean  through  il. 
p  There  is  this  good  thing  about  the  arrow,  that  it  has  not  weight  enough  to 
break  bones,  nor  tearing  power  enougli  to  necessarily  paralyze  muscle.  Thur- 
stane could  still  manage  a  revolver  wiih  his  wounded  arm,  while  his  right  was 
L_good  for  almost  any  amount  of  slasliing  work.  Letting  tlie  lifle  drop  and  swing 
from  the  pommel,  he  met  the  charge  of  two  grinning  and  scowling  lancers.  One 
tlirust  he  parried  with  his  sabre  ;  from  the  other  he  saved  his  neck  by  stooping  ; 
but  it  drove  through  his  coat  collar,  and  nearly  unseated  him.  For  a  moment 
our  bleeding  and  hampered  young  gladiator  seemed  to  be  in  a  bad  way.  But  he 
was  strong;  he  braced  himself  in  his  stirrups,  and  he  made  use  of  both  his 
hands.  The  Indian  whose  spear  was  still  free  caught  a  bullet  through  the 
shoulder,  dropped  his  weapon,  and  circled  away  yelling.  Then  Thurstane 
plunged  at  the  other,  reared  his  tall  horse  over  him,  broke  the  lance- shaft  with  a 
violent  twist,  and  swung  his  long  cavalry  sabre.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  Apache 
crouched,  spurred,  and  skedaddled  ;  he  got  away  alive,  but  il  v,-as  with  a  long 
bloody  gash  down  his  naked  back  ;  the  last  seen  of  him  lie  was  going  at  full 
speed,  holding  by  his  pony's  mane.  The  Lieutenant  remained  master  of  the 
whole  front  of  the  caravan. 

Meantime  there  was  a  busy  popping  along  the  flankers  and  through  the 
hinder  openings  in  the  second  line  of  wagons.  The  Indians  skurried,  wheeled, 
pranced,  and  yelled,  let  fly  their  arrows  from  a  distance,  dashed  up  here  and  there 
wit1i  their  lances,  and  as  quickly  retreated  before  the  threatening  muzzles.  The 
muleteers,  encouraged  by  the  presence  of  the  soldiers,  behaved  with  respectable 
firmness  and  blazed  away  rapidl)-,  though  not  eftectively.  The  regulars  reserved 
their  tire  for  close  quarters,  and  then  delivered  it  to  bloody  purpose. 

Around  Sweeney,  who  garrisoned  the  left-hand  wagon  of  the  rearmost  line, 
the  fight  was  particularly  noisy.  Tlie  Apaches  saw  that  he  was  little,  and  per- 
haps they  saw  that  he  was  afraid  of  his  gun.  They  went  for  him  ;  they  were 
after  him  with  their  sharpest  sticks  ;  they  counted  on  Sweeney.  The  speck  of  a 
man  sat  on  the  front  seat  of  the  wagon,  outside  of  the  driver,  and  fully  exposed 
to  the  tribulation.  He  was  in  a  state  ol  the  highest  Paddy  excitement.  He 
grinned  and  bounced  like  a  caravan  of  monkeys.  But  he  was  not  much  scared  ; 
he  was  mainly  in  a  furious  rage.  Pointing  his  musket  first  at  one  and  then  at 
another,  he  returned  yell  for  yell,  and  was  in  fact  abusive. 

"Oh,  fire  yer  bow-arreys  !  "  he  screamed.  "Ye  can't  hit  the  side  av  a  wag- 
gin.  Ah,  ye  bloody,  murtherin'  nagers  !  go  'way  wid  yer  long  poles.  I'd  fight  a 
hundred  av  the  loikes  av  ye  wid  ownly  a  shillelah." 

One  audacious  thrust  of  a  lance  he  parried  very  dexterously  with  his  bayonet, 
at  the  same  time  screeching  defiantly  and  scornfully  in  the  face  of  his  hideous 
assailant.  But  this  fellow's  impudent  approach  was  too  much  to  be  endured,  and 
Sweeney  proceeded  at  once  to  teach  him  to  keep  at  a  more  civil  distance. 

"  Oh,  ye  pokin'  blaggard  !  "  he  sliouted,  and  actually  let  drive  with  his  mus- 
ket.    The  ball  missed,  but  by  pure  blundering  one  of  the  buck-shot  took  effect. 


OVERLAND  63 

and  the  brave  retreated  out  of  the  mck<e  Nvith  a  sensation  as  if  his  head  had  been 
split  Some  time  hiter  he  was  discovered  hitting  up  doggedly  on  a  rock,  \Yh.le  a 
comrade  was  trying  to  dig  the  buckshot  out  of  his  thick  skull  with  an  arrow- 

point.  .        1      .1  1 

r        '«  ni  lache  'cm  to  moind  their  bizniss,"  grinned  Sweeney  triumphantly,  as  he 
reloaded.     "The  nasty,  hoolin'  nagers  !     They've  no  rights  near  a  white  man, 

U  anyhow."  ,     ,    ,  i 

On  the  whole,  the  attack  lingered.  The  Apaches  had  done  soir.e  damage. 
One  driver  had  been  lanced  mortally.  One  muleteer  had  been  shot  through  the 
heart  with  an  arrow.  Another  arrow  had  scraped  Slu.berl's  ankle.  Another, 
directed  by  the  whimsical  genius  of  accident,  had  gone  clean  through  the  droop- 
in-  cartilaoe  of  Phine as  Glover's  long  nose,  as  if  to  prepare  him  for  the  sporting 
of'ieweile'd  decorations.  Two  mules  were  dead,  and  several  wounded,  'llie 
sides  of  the  wagons  bristled  with  shafts,  and  their  canvas  tops  were  pierced 
with  fine  holes.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Apaches  had  lost  a  do/en  horses, 
three  or  four  warriors  killed'  and  seven  or  eight  wounded. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  afTairs  around  the  train  when  Coronado,  Texas 
Smilli,  and  the  four  surviving  herdsmen  came  storming  back  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Apaches  were  discouraged  by  the  immovability  of  the  train,  and  by  the 
steady  and  deadiv  resistance  of  its  defenders.  From  f^rst  to  last  some  twenty- 
five  or  twenty  seven  of  their  warriors  had  been  hit,  of  whom  probably  one  third 
were  killed  or  mortally  wounded. 

At  the  approach  of  Coronado  those  who  were  around  the  wagons  swept  away 
in  a  panic,  and  never  paused  in  their  llight  until  they  were  a  good  half  mile  dis- 
tant     Thev  carried  off,  however,  every  man,  whether  dead  or  injured,  except 
one  alone. '  A  few  rods  from  the  train  lay  a  mere  boy,  certainly  not  over  fifteen 
r  years  old,  his  forehead  gashed  by  a  bullet,  and  life  apparently  extinct.     There 
'    was  notliing  strange  in  the  fact  of  so  young  a  lad  taking  part  in  battle,  forthe 
military  age  among  the  Indians  is  from   twelve    to  thirty-six,  and   one  third  of 
/     their  fighters  are  children. 

"What  did  they  leave  that  fellow  fur?"  said  Coronado  in  surprise,  rming  up 

to  the  senseless  figure. 

"I'll  fix  him,'-  volunteered  Texas  Smith,  dismounting  and  drawing  his  hunt- 
in''  knife.     "  Reckon  he  hain't  been  squarely  finished." 

""Stop  !"  ordered  Coronado.     "  He  is  not  an  Apache.     He  is  some  pueblo 
Indian.     See  how  much  he  is  hurt." 

"  Skull  ain't  broke,"  replied  Texas,  fingering  the  wound  as  rougldy  as  if  it 
had  been  in  the  flesh  of  a  beast.  "  Reckon  he'll  flop  round.  May  do  mischief, 
if  we  don't  fix  him." 

Anxious  to  stick  his  knife  into  the  defenceless  young  throat,  he  nevertheless 
controlled  his  sentiments  and  looked  up  for  instructions.  Since  the  splendid 
decapitation  which  Coronado  had  performed,  Texas  respected  him  as  he  had 
never  heretofore  hoped  to  respect  a  "  greaser." 

"Perhaps  we  can  get  information  out  of  him,"  said  Coronado.  "  Suppose 
you  lay  him  in  a  wagon." 

Meanwhile  preparations  had  been  made  for  an  advance.  The  four  dead  or 
badlv  wounded  draft  mules  were  disentangled  from  the  harness,  and  their  places 
supplied  with  the  four  army  mules,  whose  packs  were  thrown  into  the  wagons. 


r 


r 


u 


34  OVERLAND. 

These  animals,  by  the  way,  had  escaped  injury,  partly  because  they  had  been 
tethered  between  the  two  lines  of  vehicles,  and  partly  because  tliey  had  l^een 
well  covered  by  their  loads,  which  were  i)lentiful!y  stuck  with  arrows. 

"  We  are  ready  to  march,"  said  Thurstane  to  Coronado.  "  I  am  sorry  we 
can't  try  to  recover  your  men  back  there." 

"No  use,"  commented  Texas  Smith.  "  Tlie  Patchies  have  been  at  'env 
They're  chuck  full  of  spear  holes  by  this  time." 

Coronado  shouted  to  the  drivers  to  start.  Commencing  on  the  right,  the 
wagons  filed  off  two  by  two  toward  the  mouth  of  the  canon,  while  the  Indians, 
gathered  in  a  group  half  a  mile  away,  looked  on  without  a  yell  or  a  movement. 
The  instant  that  the  vehicle  which  contained  the  ladies  had  cleared  itself  of  the 
others,  Thurstane  and  Coronado  rode  alongside  of  it. 

"So!  you  are  safe!"  said  the  former.  "By  Heavens,  if  they  Jiad  hurt 
you  !  " 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  Clara,  very  quickly  and  eagerly,  while  scanning  him  from 
head  to  foot. 

Coronado  saw  that  look,  anxious  for  Thurstane  alone;  and,  master  of  dis- 
simulation though  he  was,  his  face  sliowed  both  pain  and  anger. 

"Ah — oh — oh  dear  I  "  groaned  Mrs.  Stanley,  as  she  made  her  appearance  in 
the  front  of  the  vehicle.  "Well!  this  is  rather  more  tlian  I  can  bear.  This  i.i 
just  as  much  as  a  woman  can  put  up  with.  Dear  me  !  what  is  the  matter  with 
your  arm,  Lieutenant  ?  " 

"Just  a  pin  prick,"  said  Thurstane. 

Clara  began  to  get  out  of  the  wagon,  with  the  purpose  of  going  to  him,  her 
eyes  staring  and  her  face  pale. 

"  Don't !  "  he  protested,  motioning  her  back.     "  It  is  nothing." 

And,  although  the  lacerated  arm  hurt  him  and  was  not  easy  to  manage,  he 
raised  it  over  his  head  to  show  that  the  damage  was  trifling. 

"  Do  get  in  here  and  let  us  take  care  of  you,"  begged  Clara. 

"  Certainly  !  "  echoed  Aunt  Maria,  who  was  a  compassionate  woman  at  heart, 
and  who  only  lacked  somewhat  in  quickness  of  sympathy,  perhaps  by  reason  of 
her  strong-minded  notions. 

"  I  will  when  I  need  it,"  said  Ral|)h,  flattered  and  gratified.  "The  arm  will 
do  without  dressing  till  we  reach  camp.  There  are  other  wounded.  Everybody 
has  fought.     Mr.  Coronado  here  has  done  deeds  worthy  of  his  ancestors." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Coronado!"  smiled  Aunt  Maria,  delighted  that  her  favorite  had 
distinguished  himself. 

"  Captain  Glover,  what's  the  matter  with  your  nose?"  was  the  lady's  next 
outer}-. 

"  Wal,  it's  been  bored,"  replied  Glover,  tenderly  fingering  his  sore  proboscis. 
"  It's  been,  so  to  speak,  eyelet-holed.  I'm  glad  I  hadn't  but  one.  The  mor'j 
noses  a  feller  kerries  in  battle,  the  wuss  for  him.  I  hope  the  darned  rip  '11  heal 
up.     I've  no  'casion  to  hev  a  line  rove  through  it  'n'  be  towed,  that  I  know  of." 

"  How  did  it  feel  when  it  went  through  ? "  asked  Aunt  Maria,  full  of  curiosity 
and  awe. 

"Felt  's  though  I'd  got  the  dreadfullest  influenzee  thet  ever  snorted. 
Twitched  'n'  tickled  like  all  possessed." 

"  Was  it  an  arrow  ? "  inquired  the  still  unsatisfied  lady. 

"  Reckon  'twas.  Never  see  it.  But  it  kinder  whished,  'n'  I  felt  the  feathers. 
Darn  'em  !  When  I  felt  the  feathers,  tell  ye  I  was  "bout  half  scairt.  Hed'n  idee 
'f  th'  angel  'f  death,  'n'  so  on." 


OVERLAND.  65 

Of  course  Aunt  Maria  and  Clara  wanted  to  do  much  nursing  immediately  j 
but  there  were  no  conveniences  and  there  was  no  time  ;  and  so  benevolence  was 
postponed. 

"So  you  are  hurt  ?  "  said  Thurstane  to  Texas  Smith,  noticing  his  torn  and 
bloody  shirt. 

"  It's  jest  a  scrape,"  grunted  the  bushwhacker.     "  Mouglit  'a'  been  worse." 
P        "  It  was  bad  generalship  trying  to  save  you.     We  nearly  paid  high  for  it." 

"  That's  so.     Cost  four  greasers,  as  'twas.     Well,  I'm  worth  four  greasers. 

'*  You're  a  devil  of  a  fighter,"  continued  the  Lieutenant,  surveying  the  fero- 
cious face  and  sullen  air  of  the  cutthroat  with  a  soldier's  admiration  for  what- 
ever expresses  pugnacity. 

"  Bet  yer  pile  on  it,"  returned  Texas,  calmly  conscious  of  his  character.  "  So 
be  you." 

The  savage  black  eyes  and  the  imperious  blue  ones  stared  into  each  other 
I without  the  least  flinching  and  wit!)  sometliing  like  friendliness. 

Coronado  rode  up  to  the  pair  and  asked,  "  Is  that  boy  alive  yet  ? " 

"  It's  about  time  for  him  to  flop  round,"  replied  Texas  indifferently.  "  Reckon 
you'll  find  him  in  tlie  off"  hind  wagon.     I  shoved  him  in  than" 

Coronado  cantered  to  the  off"  hind  wagon,  peeped  through  the  rear  opening 
of  its  canvas  cover,  discovered  the  youth  lying  on  a  pile  of  luggage,  addressed 
him  in  Spanish,  and  learned  his  story.  He  belonged  to  a  hacienda  in  Bernalillo, 
a  hundred  miles  or  more  west  of  Santa  F6.  The  Apaches  had  surprised  the 
hacienda  and  plundered  it,  carrying  him  off"  because,  having  formerly  been  a  cap- 
tive among  them,  he  could  speak  their  language,  manage  the  bow,  etc. 

For  all  this  Coronado  cared  nothing;  he  wanted  to  know  why  tlie  band  had 
left  Bernalillo;  also  why  it  had  attacked  his  train.  The  boy  explained  that  the 
raiders  had  been  driven  off"  the  southern  route  by  a  party  of  United  States  cav- 
alry, and  that,  having  lost  a  number  of  their  braves  in  the  fight,  they  had  swora 
vengeance  on  Americans. 

*'  Did  you  hear  them  say  whose  train  this  was  ?"  demanded  Coronado. 

"  No,  Senor." 

"  Do  you  think  they  knew  ?  "  ji) 

"Senor,  I  think  not."  'y'' ' 

"  Whose  band  was  this  ? " 

"  Manga  Colorada's." 

"  Where  is  Delgadito  ?" 

"Delgidito  went  the  other  side  of  the  mountain.  They  were  both  going  to 
fight  the  Moquis." 

"  So  we  shall  find  Delgadito  in  the  Moqui  valley?" 

"  I  think  so,  Senor." 

After  a  moment  of  reflection  Coronado  added,  "  You  will  stay  witli  us  and 
take  care  of  mules.     I  will  do  well  by  you." 

"  Thanks,  Sefior.     Many  thanks." 

Coronado  rejoined  Thurstane  and  told  his  news.  The  officer  looked  grave  ; 
there  might  be  another  combat  in  store  for  the  train ;  it  might  be  an  aff"air  with 
both  bands  of  the  Apaches. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  ♦'  we  must  keep  our  eyes  open.  Every  one  of  us  must  do 
his  very  utmost.     On  the  whole,  I  can't  believe  they  can  beat  us." 

"  Nombre  de  Dios  !  "  thought  Coronado.  "  How  will  this  accursed  job  end  ? 
I  wish  I  were  out  of  it." 

They  were  now  traversing  the  caBon  from  which  they  had  been  so  long  de- 


66  OVERLAND. 

barred.  It  was  a  peaceful  solitude ;  no  life  but  their  own  stirred  within  its  sand 
stone  ramparts  ;  and  its  windings  soon  carried  them  out  of  sight  of  their  late  as- 
sailants. For  four  hours  they  slowly  threaded  it,  and  when  night  came  on  they 
were  still  in  it,  miles  away  from  their  expected  camping  ground.  No  water  and 
no  grass  ;  the  animals  were  drooping  with  hunger,  and  all  suffered  with  thirst ; 
the  worst  was  that  the  hurts  of  the  wounded  could  not  be  properly  dressed. 
But  progress  through  this  labyrinth  of  stones  in  the  darkness  was  impossible, 
and  the  weary,  anxious,  fevered  travellers  bivouacked  as  well  as  iniglit  be. 

Starting  at  dawn,  they  finished  the  caflon  in  about  an  hour,  traversed  an  vn- 
even  plateau  which  stretched  beyond  its  final  sinuous  branch  gullies,  and  found 
themselves  on  the  brow  of  a  lofty  terrace,  overlooking  a  sublime  panorama. 
There  was  an  immense  valley,  not  smooth  and  verdurous,  but  a  gigantic  nest  of 
savage  buttes  and  crags  and  hills,  only  to  l)e  called  a  valley  because  it  wns  en- 
closed by  what  seemed  a  continuous  line  of  eminences.  On  the  north  and  east 
rose  long  ranges  and  elevated  table-lands  ;  on  the  west,  the  savage  rolls  and 
precipices  of  the  Sierra  del  Carrizo  ;  and  on  tlie  south,  a  more  distant  bordering 
of  hazy  mountains,  closing  to  the  southwest,  a  hundred  miles  away,  in  the  noble 
snowy  peaks  of  Monte  San  Francisco. 

With  his  field-glass,  Thurstane  examined  one  after  another  of  the  mesas  and 
buttes  which  diversified  this  enormous  depression.  At  last  his  attention  settled 
on  an  isolated  bluff  or  mound,  with  a  flattened  surface  three  or  four  miles  in 
length,  the  whole  mass  of  which  seemed  to  be  solid  and  barren  rock.  On  this 
truncated  pyramid  he  distinguished,  or  thought  he  distinguished,  one  or  more  of 
the  pueblos  of  the  Moquis.  He  could  not  be  quite  sure,  because  the  distance 
was  fifteen  miles,  and  the  walls  of  these  villages  are  of  the  same  stone  with  the 
buttes  upon  which  they  stand. 

"There  is  our  goal,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  he  said  to  Coronado.  "When 
we  get  there  we  can  rest." 

The  train  pushed  onward,  slowly  descending  the  terrace,  or  rather  the  suc- 
cession of  terraces.  After  reaching  a  more  level  region,  and  while  winding  be- 
tween stony  hills  of  a  depressing  sterility,  it  came  suddenl)',  at  the  bottoin  of  a 
ravine,  upon  fresh  green  turf  and  thickets  of  willows,  the  environment  of  a  small 
spring  of  clear  water.  There  was  a  halt;  all  hands  fell  to  digging  a  trench 
across  the  gully;  when  it  had  filled,  the  animals  were  allowed  to  drink  ;  in  an 
hour  more  they  had  closely  cropped  a!,  the  grass.  This  was  using  up  lime  per- 
ilously, but  it  had  to  be  done,  for  the  beasts  were  tottering. 

Moving  again  ;  five  miles  more  traversed  ;  another  spring  and  patch  of  turf 
discovered  ;  a  rough  ravine  through  a  low  sandstone  ridge  threaded  ;  at  last  they 
were  on  one  of  the  levels  of  the  valley.  Three  of  the  Moqui  tovrns  were  now 
about  eight  miles  distant,  and  with  his  glass  Thurstane  could  distinguish 
the  horizontal  lines  of  build  ng.  The  trail  made  straight  for  the  pueblos,  but  it 
was  almost  impassable  to  wagons,  and  progress  was  very  slow.  It  was  all  the 
slower  because  of  the  weakness  of  the  mules,  which  througliout  all  this  hair- 
brained  journey  had  been  severely  worked,  and  of  late  had  been  poorly  fed. 

Presently  the  travellers  turned  the  point  of  a  naked  ridge  which  projected 
laterally  into  the  valley.  There  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  wide-spread  sweep 
of  turf,  contrasting  so  brilliantly  with  the  bygone  infertilities  that  it  seemed  to 
them  a  paradise,  and  stretching  clear  on  to  the  bluff  of  the  pueblos. 

There,  too,  with  equal  suddenness,  they  came  upon  peril.  Just  beyond  the 
nose  of  the  sandstone  promontory  there  was  a  bivouc  of  half-naked,  dark- 
skinned  horsemen,  recognizable  at  a  glance  as  Apaches.  It  was  undoubtedljr 
the  band  of  Delgadito. 


i 


OVERLAND.  67 

The  c.imp  was  half  a  mile  distant.  Tl>e  Itulians,  evidently  surprised  at  tl\e 
Jippear.uice  of  the  tr.iin,  were  immediately  in  commolion.  There  was  a  rapid 
mountiii'j,  and  in  five  minutes  they  were  all  on  horseback,  curveting  in  circles, 
and  brandisliing  their  lances,  but  without  advancing. 

"  Afanga  Colorada  hasn't  reached  here  yet,"  observed  Thurstane. 

**  That's  so,"  assented  Texas  Smith.  "  They  hain't  heerd  from  the  cuss,  or 
they'd  a  bushwhacked  us  somewhar.  Seein'  he  dasn't  follow  our  trail,  he  liad 
to  make  a  big  turn  to  git  here.  But  he'll  be  droppin'  along,  an'  llien  we'll  hev  a 
fight.  I  reckon  we'll  hev  one  anyway.  Tliem  cusses  ain't  friendly.  If  they  was, 
they'd  a  piled  in  helter-skelter  to  hev  a  talk  an'  ask  fur  whiskey." 

*'  We  must  keep  them  at  a  distance,"  said  Thurstane. 

"  You  bet !  The  first  Injun  that  comes  nigh  us,  I'll  shute  liim.  They  mustn't 
be  'lowed  to  git  among  us.  First  you  know  you'd  hear  a  yell,  an'  find  yourself 
speared  in  the  back.     An'  them  that's  speared  right  off  is  the  lucky  ones." 

r"  .\ot  one  of  us  must  fall  into  their  hands,"  muttered  the  officer,  thinking  of 
Clar.i. 

"Cap,  that's  so,"  returned  Texas  grimlv.  "When  I  fight  Injuns,  I  never 
empty  my  revolver.  I  keep  one  barl  for  myself.  You'd  better  do  the  .same. 
Furthermore,  thar  oughter  be  somebody  detailed  to  shute  the  women  folks  when 
it  comes  to  the  last  pinch.     I  say  this  as  a  friend." 

Asa  friend!  It  was  the  utmost  stretch  of  Texas  Smith's  humanity  and 
symp.ithy.     Obviously  the  fellow  had  a  soft  side  to  him. 

The  fict  is  that  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Thurstane  since  he  had  learned  his 
fighting  qualities,  and  would  rather  have  done  him  a  favor  than  murder  him. 
At  all  events  his  hatred  to  "  Injuns  "  was  such  that  he  wanted  the  lieutenant  to 
^kill  a  great  many  of  them  before  his  own  turn  came. 

"  So  you  think  we'll  have  a  tough  job  of  it  ?  "  inferred  Ralph. 

"  Cap,  we  ain't  so  many  as  we  was.  An'  if  Manga  Colorada  comes  up,  thar'll 
be  a  pile  of  red-skins.  It  may  be  they'll  outlast  us  ;  an'  so  I  say  as  a  friend, 
save  one  shot ;  save  it  for  yourself.  Cap." 

But  the  Apaches  did  not  advance.  They  watched  the  train  steadily  ;  they  held 
a  long  consultation  which  evidently  referred  to  it ;  at  last  they  seemed  to  decide 
that  it  was  in  too  good  order  to  fall  an  easy  prey  ;  there  was  some  wild  caper- 
ing along  its  flanks,  at  a  safe  distance  ;  and  then,  little  by  little,  the  gang  re- 
settled in  its  bivouac.  It  was  like  a  swarm  of  hornets,  whidi  should  sally  out  to 
reconnoitre  an  enemj-,  buzz  about  threateningly  for  a  while,  and  sail  back  to 
their  nest. 

The  plain,  u«-.ually  dotted  with  flocks  of  sheep,  was  now  a  solitude.  TIk: 
Moquis  had  evidently  withdrawn  their  woolly  wealth  either  to  the  summit  of 
the  bluff,  or  to  the  partially  sheltered  pasturage  around  its  base.  The  only  ob- 
jects which  varied  tlie  verdant  level  were  scattered  white  rocks,  probably  gyp- 
sum or  oxide  of  manganese,  which  glistened  surprisingly  in  the  sunlight,  re- 
minding one  of  pearls  sown  on  a  mantel  of  green  velvet.  But  already  the  travel- 
lers could  see  the  pexch  orchards  of  the  Moquis,  and  the  sides  of  the  lofty  butte 
laid  out  in  gardens  supported  by  terrace-walls  of  dressed  stone,  the  whole  mass 
surmounted  by  the  solid  ramparts  of  the  pueblos. 

At  this  moment,  while  the  train  was  still  a  little  over  two  miles  from  the  foot 
of  the  bluff,  and  the  Apache  camp  more  than  three  miles  to  the  rear,  Texas 
Smith  shouted,  "  The  cusses  hev  got  the  news." 

It  was  true  ;  the  foremost  riders,  or  perhaps  only  the  messengers,  of  Manga 
Color.ada  had  reached  Delgadito;  and  a  hundred  warriors  were  swarming  after 
the  train  ^o  avenge  their  fallen  comrades. 


63  OVERLAND. 

Now  ensued  a  race  for  life,  the  last  pull  of  tlie  mules  being  lashed  out  of 
therri;  and  the  Indians  riding  at  the  topmost  speed  of  their  wiry  ponies. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

When  the  race  for  life  and  death  commenced  between  the  emigrants  and  th« 
Apaches,  it  seemed  as  if  the  former  would  certainly  be  able  to  go  two  miles  be- 
fore tlie  latter  could  cover  six. 

But  the  mules  were  weak,  and  the  soil  of  the  plain  was  a  thin  loam  into 
which  the  wheels  sank  easily,  so  that  the  heavy  wagons  could  not  be  hurried  be- 
yond a  trot,  and  before  long  were  reduced  to  a  walk.  Thus,  while  the  caravan 
was  still  half  a  mile  from  its  city  of  refuge,  the  foremost  hornets  of  Delgadito's 
swarm  were  already  circling  around  it. 

The  chief  could  not  charge  at  once,  however,  for  the  warriors  whom  he  had 
in  hand  numbered  barely  a  score,  and  their  horses,  blown  with  a  run  of  over  five 
miles,  were  unfit  for  sharp  fighting  work.  For  a  few  minutes  nothing  happened, 
except  that  the  caravan  continued  its  silent,  sullen  retreat,  while  the  pursuers 
cantered  yelling  around  it  at  a  safe  distance.  Not  a  shot  was  fired  by  the  emi- 
grants ;  not  a  brave  dashed  up  to  let  fly  his  arrows.  At  last  there  were  fifty 
Apaches  ;  then  there  was  a  hurried  council  ;  tlien  a  furious  rush.  Evidently  the 
savages  were  ashamed  to  let  their  enemies  escape  for  lack  of  one  audacious  as- 
sault. 
f"  This  charge  was  led  by  a  child.  A  boy  not  more  than  fourteen  years  of  age, 
.screaming  like  a-little  demon  and  discharging  his  arrows  at  full  speed  with 
wicked  dexterity,  rode  at  the  head  of  this  savage  hourra  of  the  Cossacks  of  the 
American  desert.  As  the  fierce  child  came  on,  Coronado  saw  him  and  recog- 
nized him  with  a  mixture  of  wonder,  dread,  and  hate.  Here  was  the  son  of  the 
false-hearted  savage  who  bad  accepted  his  money,  agreed  to  do  his  work,  and 
then  turned  against  him.  Should  he  kill  him  ?  It  would  open  an  account  of 
blood  between  himself  and  the  father.  Never  mind  ;  vengeance  is  sweet  ;  more- 
over, the  youngster  was  dangerous. 

Coronado  raised  his  revolver,  steadied  it  across  his  left  arm,  took  a  calm  aim, 
and  fired.  The  handsome,  headlong,  terrible  boy  swayed  forward,  rolled  slowly 
over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and  fell  to  the  ground  motionless.  In  the  next 
moment  there  was  a  general  rattle  of  firearms  from  the  train,  and  the  jnass  of 
the  charging  column  broke  up  into  squads  which  went  off  in  aimless  caracolings. 
Barring  a  short  struggle  by  half  a  dozen  braves  to  recover  the  young  chiefs 
body,  the  contest  was  over;  and  in  two  minutes  more  the  Apaches  were  half  a 
mile  distant,  looking  on  in  sulky  silence  while  the  train  crawled  toward  the  pto- 
/    tecting  bluff. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  shouted  Thurstane.  "  That  was  quick  work.  Delgadito  doesn't 
take  his  punishment  well." 

r" Reckon  they  see  we  had  friends,"  observed  Captain  Glover.  "Jest  look  at 
them  critters  pile  down  the  mounting.  Darned  if  they  don't  skip  like  nanny- 
goats." 

Down  the  huge  steep  slope,  springing  along  rocky,  sinuous  paths,  or  over  the 
walls  of  the  terraces,  came  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  men,  running  with 
a  speed  which,  considering  the  nature  of  the  footing,  was  marvellous.  Before 
many  in  the  train  were  aware  of  their  approach,  they  were  alread)'  among  the 
wagons,  rushing  up  to  the  travellers  with  outstretched  hands,  the  m.ost  cordial. 


OVERLAND.  Cf) 

cViL-erful,  kiiully-eyed  people  tli.it  Tliuist.inc  li.ul  seen  in  New  Mexico.  Good 
features,  too;  tli.it  is,  lliey  were  h.tiiclsomer  tli.\n  tiie  usual  Iiuliau  type;  some 
even  Ij.iU  pl>ysioj;nomies  which  icmiiuled  one  of  Italians.  Their  hair  was  fine 
and  "flossy  tor  men  of  their  race  ;  and,  stranger  still,  it  bore  an  appearance  of 
carclul  combing.  Nearly  all  wore  loose  cotton  trousers  or  drawers  reaching  to 
the  knee,  with  a  kind  of  blouse  of  woollen  or  cotton,  and  over  the  shoulders  a 
gay  woollen  blanket  tied  around  the  waist.  In  view  of  their  tidy  raiment  and 
their  general  air  cf  cleanliness,  it  seemed  a  mistake  to  class  tiiem  as  Indians. 
These  were  the  Moquis,  a  remnant  of  one  of  ilH;__semi-rivili7:Ui^"''^  "f  Ameilm, 
perhaps  a  colony  left  behind  by  the  A/.tecs  in  their  migrations,  or  possibly  by 
the  temple-buiklers  of  Yucatan. 

Impossible  to  converse  with  them.  Not  a  person  in  the  caravan  spoke  the 
Moqui  tongue,  and  not  a  Moqui  spoke  or  understood  a  word  of  Spanish  or  Eng- 
lish. But  it  was  eviilent  from  their  faces  and  gestures  that  they  were  entluisias- 
tically  fnendly,  and  that  they  had  rushed  down  from  their  fastness  to  aiil  the  em- 
igrants against  the  Apaches.  There  was  even  a  little  sally  into  the  plain,  the 
Moquis  running  a  quarter  of  a  mile  with  amazing  agility,  spre.iding  out  into  ;i 
loose  skirmishing  line  of  battle,  brandishing  their  bows  and  defying  the  enemy  to 
battle.  But  tliis  ende<l  in  nothing;  the  Apaches  sullenly  cantered  away  ;  th.e 
pothers  soon  checked  their  pursuit. 

Now  came  the  question  of  encampment.  To  get  the  wagons  up  the  bluff, 
eight  hundred  feet  or  so  in  height,  along  a  path  whicli  had  been  cut  in  the  rock 
or  built  up  with  stone,  was  obviously  impossible.  Would  there  Ix;  safety  where 
they  were,  just  at  the  base  of  the  noble  slope  .•"  The  Moquis  assured  them  by 
signs  that  the  plundering  horse-Indians  never  came  so  near  the  pueblos.  Camp 
then  ;  the  wagons  were  parked  as  usual  in  a  hollow  square;  the  half-starved  an- 
imals were  unharnessed  and  allowed  to  fly  at  the  abundant  grass  ;  the  cramped 
and  wearied  travellers  threw  themselves  on  the  ground  with  delight. 

"  What  a  charming  people  ti»ese  Monkeys  are  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  surveying 
the  neat  and  smiling  villagers  with  approval. 

"Moquis,"  Coronado  corrected  her,  with  a  lx)w. 

"Oh,  Mo-kies,"  repeated  Aunt  Maria,  this  time  catching  the  sound  exactly. 
*'Well,  I  propose  to  see  as  much  of  them  as  possible.  Why  shouldn't  the 
women  and  the  wounded  sleep  in  the  city  ?  " 

"It  is  an  excellent  idea,"  assented  Coronado,  although  he  thought  with  dis- 
taste that  this  would  bring  Clara  and  Thurstane  together,  while  he  would  be  at 
a  distance, 
p       "  I  sni)i>ose  we  shall  get  an  i<lea  from  it  of  the  ancient  city  of  Mexico,  as  de- 
8cril)ed  by  I'rescott,"  continued  the  enthusiastic  lady. 

"You  will  d'Iscover  a  few  deviations  in  the  ground  plan,"  returned  Coron.ado, 
[_  for  once  ironical. 

Aunt  Maria's  suggestion  with  regard  to  the  women  and  the  wounded  was 
adopted.  The  Moqnis  seemed  to  urge  it  ;  so  at  least  they  were  understood. 
Within  a  couple  of  hours  after  the  halt  a  procession  of  the  feebler  folk  com- 
menced clin.bing  the  bluff,  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of  the  hospitable  Indians. 
The  winding  and  difficult  path  swarmed  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  with  people  in 
the  gayest  of  blankets,  some  ascending  with  the  strangers  and  some  coming 
down  to  greet  them. 

"  I  should  think  we  were  going  up  to  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  to  be  sacrified," 
said  Clara,  who  had  also  read  I'rescott. 

"  To  be  worshipped,"  ventured  Thurstane,  giving  her  a  look  which  made  bef 
blush,  the  boldest  look  that  he  had  yet  ventured. 


10  OVERLAND. 

[  The  terraces,  as  we  have  stated,  were  faced  with  partia!'}-  dressed  .«toue. 

They  were  in  many  places  quite  broad,  and  were  cultivated  everywhere  with  ad- 
mirable care,  presenting  long  green  lines  of  corn  fields  or  of  peach  orchards. 
Half-way  up  the  ascent  was  a  platform  of  more  than  ordinary  spaciousness  which 
contained  a  large  reservoir,  built  of  chipped  stone  strongly  cemented,  and  brim- 
ming with  limpid  water.  From  this  cistern  large  earthen  pipes  led  ofTin  various 
directions  to  irrigate  the  terraces  below. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  discovering  America,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria, 
her  face  scarlet  with  exercise  and  enthusiasm. 

Presently  she  asked,  in  full  faith  that  she  was  approaching  a  metropolis, 
"What  is  the  name  of  the  city  ?  " 

"Tliis  must  be  Tegua,"  replied  Thurstane.  "  Tegua  is  the  most  eastern  of 
the  Moqui  pueblos.  There  are  three  on  this  bluff.  Mooshaneh  and  two  others 
are  on  a  butte  to  tlie  west.     Oraybe  is  further  north." 

"  What  a  powerful  confederacy  !"  said  Aunt  Maria.     "The  United  States  of 
I     the  Moquis  !  " 

)  After  a  breathless  ascent  of  at  least  eight  hundred  feet,  they  reached  the  un- 

dulated, barren,  rocky  surface  of  a  plateau.  Here  the  whole  population  of  Tegua 
had  collected;  and  for  the  first  time  the  visitors  saw  Moqui  women  and  chil- 
dren. Aunt  Maria  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  specimens  of  her  own  sex  ; 
she  went  into  ecstasies  over  their  gentle  physiognomies  and  their  rvell-combed, 
carefully  braided,  glossy  hair;  she  admired  tlieir  long  gowns  of  black  woollen, 
each  with  a  yellow  stripe  around  the  waist  and  a  border  of  the  same  at  the  bot- 
tom. 

"Such  a  sensible  costume  !  "  she  said.  "So  much  more  rational  and  conve- 
nient than  our  fashionable  fripperies  !  " 

Another  fact  of  great  interest  was  that  the  Moquis  were  Vyfhtf^r  rorwnlexioned 
than   Indians  in  general.     And  when  she  discovered  a  woman  vfith   fair  skin, 
blue  eyes,  and  yellow  hair — one  of  those  albinos  who  are  found  among  the  in- 
habitants of  the  pueblos — she  went  into  an  excitement   which  was  nothing  less 
/       than  ethnological. 

)  "  jj]"^^  ^^^  whitepeople."  she  cried,  losing  sight  of  all  the  brown  faces* 

"  They  are  some  European  race  which  colonized  America  long  before  that  mod- 
ern upstart,  Columbus.  They  are  undoubtedly  the  descendants  of  the  North- 
men who  built  the  old  mill  at  Newport  and  sculptured  the  Dighton  Rock." 

"There  is  a  belief,"  said  Thurstane,  "  that  some  of  these  pueblo  people,  par- 
ticularly those  of  Ziini,  are  Welsh.  A  Welsh  prince  named  Madoc,  flying  be- 
fore the  Saxons,  is  saitl  to  have  reached  America.  There  are  persons  who  hold 
that  th«i  descendants  of  his  followers  built  the  mounds  in  the  Mississippi  Valley, 
and  ihat  some  of  them  became  the  white  Mandans  of  the  upper  Missouri,  and 
tliat  others  founded  this  old  Mexican  civilization.  Of  course  it  is  all  guess-work. 
There's  nothing  about  it  in  the  Regulations." 

"I  consider  it  highly  probable,"  asserted  Aunt  ?.Iaria,  forgetting  her  Scandi 
•lavian  hypothesis.  "  1  don't  see  how  you  can  doubt  that  that  flaxen- haired  girJ 
«  a  descendant  of  Medoc,  Prince  of  Wales." 

"  Madoc,"  corrected  Thurstane. 

"Well,  Madoc  then,"  replied  Aunt  Maria  rather  pettishly,  for  she  was  dread 
\_Jkilly  tired,  and  moreover  she  didn't  like  Thurstane. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  the  rampart  which  surrounded  the  pue- 
•ilo.  Its  foundation  was  a  solid  blind  wall,  fifteen  feet  or  so  in  height,  and  built 
'>f  hewn  stone  laid  in  clay  cement.     Above  was  a  second  wall,  rising  from  the 


OVERLAND.  H 

first  as  one  terrare  rises  from  another,  and  surmounted  by  a  third,  which  was 
also  in  terrace  fasluon.  Tlie  jjround  tier  of  this  stair-like  structure  contained 
the  storerooms  of  the  Moquis,  wliile  the  upper  tiers  were  composed  of  their  two- 
story  houses,  the  entire  mass  of  masonry  being  upward  of  thirty  feet  hi^h,  and 
forming  a  continuous  line  of  fortification.  This  rampart  of  dwellings  was  in  the 
shape  of  a  rectangle,  and  enclosed  a  large  square  or  plaza  containing  a  noble 
reservoir.  Compact  and  populous,  at  once  a  castle  and  a  city,  the  place  could 
defy  all  the  horse  Indians  of  North  America. 

*'  IJless  me !  this  is  sublime  but  dreadful,"  said  Aunt  Maria  when  she 
learned  tliat  she  must  ascend  to  the  landing  of  the  lower  wall  by  a  ladder.  "  No 
gate?  Isn't  there  a  window  somewhere  that  I  could  crawl  through?  Well, 
well !  Dear  me  !  But  it's  delightful  to  see  how  safe  these  excellent  people  have 
made  themselves." 

So  with  many  tremblings,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  lariat  fastened  around  her 
waist  and  vigorously  pulled  from  above  by  two   Moquis,  Aunt  Maria  clutched 
and  scraped  her  way  to  the  top  of  the  foundation  terrace, 
r-         '•  I  shall  never  go  down  in  the  world,"  she  remarked  with  a  shuddering  glance 
backward.     "  I  shall  pass  the  rest  of  my  days  here." 

From  the  first  platform  the  travellers  were  led  to  the  second  and  third  by 
stone  stairways.  Tliey  were  now  upon  the  inside  of  tlie  rectangle,  and  could  see 
two  stories  of  doors  ficing  the  plaza  and  the  reservoir  in  its  centre,  the  whole 
scene  cheerful  with  the  gay  garments  and  smiling  faces  of  the  Moquis. 

"Beautiful!"    said    Aunt    Maria.      "Tliat  court   is   absolutely   swept  and 
dusted.     One  might  give  a  ball  there.     I  should  like  to  hear  Lucrelia  Molt  speak 
L  'n  it." 

Her  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  courteous  gestures  of  a  middle-aged, 
dignified  J.Ioqui,  who  was  apparently  inviting  the  party  to  en*.er  one  of  the 
dwellings. 

Pepita  and  the  otlier  two  Indian  women,  with  the  wounded  muleteers,  were 
taken  to  another  house.  Aunt  Maria,  Clara,  Thurstane,  and  Phineas  Glover 
entered  the  residence  of  the  chief,  and  found  themselves  in  a  room  six  or  seven 
feet  high,  fifteen  feet  in  length  and  ten  in  breadth.  The  floor  was  solid,  polished 
clay  ;  the  walls  were  built  of  the  large,  sunbaked  bricks  called  adobes  ;  the  ceil- 
ings were  of  beams,  covered  by  short  slicks,  with  adobes  over  all.  Skins,  bows 
and  arrows,  quivers,  antlers,  blankets,  articles  of  clotliing,  and  various  simple  or- 
naments hung  on  pegs  driven  into  the  walls  or  lay  packed  upon  shelves. 

"They  are  a  musical  race,  I  see,"  observed  Aunt  Maria,  pointing  to  a  pair  of 
painted  drumsticks  tipped  with  gay  feathers,  and  a  reed  wind-instrument  with  a 
bell-shaped  mouth  like  a  clarionet.  "Of  course  they  are.  The  Welsh  were  al- 
ways famous  for  their  bards  and  their  harpers.  Does  anybody  in  our  party 
speak  Welsh  ?  What  a  pity  we  are  such  ignoramuses  !  We  might  have  an  in- 
teresting conversation  with  these  people.  I  sliould  so  like  to  hear  their  tradi- 
tions about  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  and  the  old  mill  at  Newport." 

Her  remarks  were  interrupted  by  a  short  speech  from  the  chict',  whom  she  at 
first  understood  as  relating  the  adventures  of  his  ancestors,  but  who  finally  made 
It  clear  that  he  was  asking  them  to  take  seats.  After  they  were  arranged  on  a 
row  of  skins  spread  along  the  wall,  a  shy,  meek,  and  pretty  Moqui  woman 
passed  around  a  vase  of  water  for  drinking  and  a  tray  which  contained  something 
not  unlike  a  bundle  of  blue  wrapping  paper. 

Is  this  to  wipe  our  hands  on  ?"  inquired  Aunt  Maria,  bringing  her  specta- 
cles to  bear  on  the  contents  of  the  tray. 
'•  It  smells  like  corn  bread,"  said  Clara. 


r 


72  OVERLAND. 

So  it  was.     The  corn  of  the  Moquis  is  blue,  and  grinding  does  not  destroy 
the  color.     The  meal  is  stirred  into  a  thin  gruel  and  cooked  by  pouring  over 
smooth,  flat,  heated  stones,  the  light  shining  tissues  being  rapidly  taken  oflf  and 
I    folded,  and  subsequently  made  up  in  bundles. 

The  party  made  a  fair  meal  off  the  blue  wrapping  paper.  Then  the  meek- 
eyed  woman  reappeared,  removed  the  dishes,  returned  once  more,  and  looked 
fixedly  at  Thurstane's  bloody  sleeve. 

"  Certainly  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria.     "  Let  her  dress  your  arm.     I  have  no  doubt 
that  unpretending  woman  knows  more  about  surgery  than  all  the  men  doclors  in 
New  York  city.     Let  her  dress  it." 
)  Thurstane  partially  threw  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his  shirt  sleeve.     Clara 

gave  one  glance  at  the  huge  white  arm  with  the  small  crimson  hole  in  it,  and 
turned  away  with  a  thrill  which  was  new  to  her.     The  Moqui  woman  washed  the 
wound,  applied  a  dressing  which  looked  like  chewed  leaves,  and  put  on  a  light 
I    bandage. 

"  Does  it  feel  any  better  ?  "  asked  Aunt  ]\Iaria  eagerly. 

"  It  feels  cooler,"  said  Thurstane. 

Aunt  ALaria  looked  as  if  she  thought  him  very  ungrateful  for  not  saying  that 
he  was  entirely  well. 

"An'  my  nose,"  suggested  Glover,  turning  up  his  lacerated  proboscis. 

"Yes,  certainly  ;  your  poor  nose,"  assented  Aunt  Maria.  "  Let  the  lady  cure 
it." 

The  female  surgeon  fastened  a  poultice  upon  the  tattered  cartilage  by  pass- 
ing a  bandage  around  the  skipper's  sandy  and  bristly  head. 

"Works  like  a  charm  'n'  smells  like  peach  leaves,"  snuffled  the  patient. 

"  It's  where  it's  handy  to  sniff  at — that's  a  comfort." 

I         After  much  dumb  show,  arrangements  were  made  for  the  night.     One  of  the 

inner  rooms  was  assigned  to  Mrs.  Stanley  and  Clara,  and  another  to  Thurstane 

and  Glover.     Bedding,  provisions,  and  some  small  articles  as  presents  for  the 

/    Vioquis  were  sent  up  from  the  train  by  Corcnado. 

But  would  the  wagons,  the  animals,  and  the  human  members  of  the  party  be- 
low be  safe  during  the  night  ?  Young  as  he  was,  and  wounded  as  he  was,  Thurs- 
tane was  so  badgered  by  his  army  habit  of  incessant  responsibility  that  he  could 
not  lie  down  to  rest  until  he  had  visited  the  camp  and  examined  personally  into 
probabilities  of  attack  and  means  of  defence.  As  he  descended  the  stony  path 
which  scored  the  side  of  the  butte,  his  anxiety  was  greatly  increased  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  party  of  armed  Moquis  rushing  like  deer  down  the  steep  slope,  as 
if  to  repel  an  attack. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Thurstane  found  the  caravan  in  excellent  condition,  the  mules  beinn;  teth- 
ered at  the  reservoir  half-way  up  tiie  acclivity,  and  the  wagons  parked  and  guard- 
ed as  usual,  with  Weber  for  officer  of  the  night. 

"  We  are  in  no  tanger,  Let"tenant,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  A  large  barty  of  these 
bueplo  beeble  has  shust  gone  to  the  vront.  They  haf  daken  atfandage  of  our 
bresence  to  regover  a  borlion  of  the  blain.  I  haf  sent  Kelly  along  to  look  after 
them  a  leetle  und  make  them  keep  a  goot  watch.  We  are  shust  as  safe  as  bos- 
sible.  Und  to-morrow  we  will  basture  the  animals.  It  is  a  goot  blace  for  a 
gamp,  Leftenant,  und  we  shall  pe  all  right  in  a  tay  or  two." 

*•  Does  Shubcrt's  leg  need  attention  ?  " 

"  No.     It  is  shust  nothing.     Shupert  is  for  tuty." 

"And  you  feel  perfectly  able  to  take  care  of  yourselves  here?" 

"  Berfectly,  Leftenant." 

"  Forty  rounds  apiece  !  " 

"They  are  issued,  Leftenant." 

"If  you  are  attacked,  fire  heavily;  and  if  the  attack  is  sharp,  retreat  to  the 
bluff.     Never  mind  the  wagons  ;  they  can  be  recovered." 

"  I  will  opey  your  instructions,  Leftenant." 
r       Thurstane  was  feverish  and  exhausted  ;  he  knew  that  Weber  was  as  good  a 
soldier  as  himself;  and  still  he  went  back  to  the  village  with  an  anxious  heart ; 
L__6uch  is  the  tenderness  of  the  military  conscience  as  to  duty. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  upper  landing  of  the  wall  of  the  pueblo  it  was 
sunset,  and  he  paused  to  gaze  at  a  magnificent  landscape,  the  replica  of  the  one 
which  he  had  seen  at  sunrise.  There  were  buttes,  valleys,  and  canons,  the  vast 
and  lofty  plateaus  of  the  north,  the  ranges  of  the  Navajo  country,  the  Sierra  del 
Carrizo,  and  the  ice  peaks  of  Monte  San  Francisco.  It  was  sublime,  savage, 
beautiful,  horrible.  It  seemed  a  revelation  from  some  other  world.  It  was  a 
_  nightmare  of  nature. 

Clara  met  him  on  the  landing  \vith  the  smile  which  she  now  often  gave  him. 
"  I  was  anxious  about  you,"  she  said.  "  You  were  too  weak  to  go  down  there. 
You  look  very  tired.  Do  come  and  eat,  and  then  rest.  You  will  make  yourself 
sick.     I  was  quite  anxious  about  you." 

It  was  a  delightful  repetition.  How  his  heart  and  his  eyes  thanked  her  for 
being  troubled  for  his  sake!  He  was  so  cheered  that  in  a  moment  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  tiied  at  all.  He  could  have  watched  all  that  night,  if  it  had  been  ne- 
cessary for  her  safety,  or  even  for  her  comfort.  The  soul  certainly  has  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  the  body. 

While  our  travellers  sleep,  let  us  glance  at  the  singular  people  among  whom 
they  have  found  refuge. 

rit  is  said  hesitatingly,  by  scholars  who  have  not  yet  made  comparative  stud- 
ies of  languages,  that  the  Moquis  are  not  red  incn^  like  the  Algonquins.  the 
Iroquois,  the  Lenni  Lenape,  the  Sioux,  and  in  general  those  whom  we  know  as 
Indians.  It  is  said,  moreover,  that  they  are  of  the  same  generic  stock  with  the 
Aztecs  of  Mexico,  the  ancient  Peruvians,  and  all  the  other  city-building  peoples 
of  both  North  and  South  America. 


74  OVERLAND. 

It  was  an  evil  day  for  the  brown  race  of  New  Mexico  wlien  horses  strayed 
from  the  Spanish  settlements  into  the  desert,  and  the  savage  red  tribes  became 
cavalry.  Tiiis  feeble  civilization  then  received  a  more  cruel  shock  than  that 
which  had  been  dealt  it  by  the  storming  columns  of  the  conquistadors.  The 
horse  transformed  the  Utes,  Apaclies,  Comanches,  and  Navajos  from  snapping- 
turtles  into  condors.  Thenceforward,  instead  of  crawling  in  slow  and  feeble 
bands  to  tease  the  dense  populations  of  tlie  pueblos,  they  could  come  like  a  tor- 
nado, and  come  in  a  swarm.  At  no  lime  were  the  Moquis  and  their  fellow  agri- 
culturists and  herdsmen  safe  from  robbery  and  shiu^luer.  Sucli  villages  as 
did  not  stand  upon  bultes  inaccessible  to  iiorsemen,  and  such  as  did  not  possess 
fertile  lands  immediately  under  tlie  shelter  of  tlieir  walls,  were  either  abandoned 
or  depopulated  by  slow  starvation. 

It  is  tluis  that  we  may  account  for  many  of  the  desolate  cities  wliich  are  now 
found  in  Arizona,  New  Mexico,  and  Utah.  Not  of  course  for  all  ;  some,  we 
know,  were  destroyed  by  the  early  Spaniards  ;  others  may  have  been  forsaken 
because  their  tillable  lands  became  exhausted  ;  others  doubtless  fell  during  wars 
between  different  tribes  of  the  brown  race.  But  the  cavalry  of  tiie  desert  must 
necessarily  have  been  a  potent  instrument  of  destruction. 

It  is  a  pathetic  spectacle,  this  civilization  which  has  perished,  or  is  perishing, 
without  the  poor  consolation  of  a  history  to  record  its  sufferings.  It  comes  near 
to  being  a  repetition  of  the  silent  death  of  the  flint  and  bronze  races,  tlie  mound- 
/     raisers,  and  cave-diggers,  and  cromlech-builders  of  Europe. 

Captain  Phineas  Glover,  rising  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  and  having 
had  his  nosebag  of  medicament  refilled  and  refitted,  set  off  on  an  appetizer 
around  the  ramparts  of  the  pueblo,  and  came  back  marvelling. 

"Been  out  to  shake  hands  with  these  clever  critters,"  he  said.  '•  Best  be* 
havin'  'n'  meekest  lookin'  Injuns  1  ever  see.  Put  me  in  mind  o'  cows  'n"  lambs. 
An'  neat !  'Most  equal  to  Amsterdam  Dutch.  Seen  a  woman  sweepin'  up  her 
husband's  tobacco  ashes  'n'  carryin'  'em  out  to  throw  over  the  wall.  Jest  whal 
they  do  in  Broek.     Ever  been  in  Broek  ?     Tell  ye  'bout  it  some  time.     But  how 

rd'ye  s'pose  this  town  was  built?  /  didn't  see  no  stun  up  heie  tliat  was  fit  foi 
quarryin'.  So  I  put  it  to  a  lot  of  fellers  where  they  got  their  luiildin'  m'ter'ls, 
Wal,  after  figurin'  round  a  spell,  'n'  makin'  signs  by  the  schuner  load,  found  out 
the  hull  thing.  Every  stun  in  this  place  was  whittled  out  'f  the  ruff-scuff  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mounting,  'n'  fetched  up  here  in  blankets  on  men's  shoulders.  All 
the  mud,  too,  to  make  tlieir  bricks,  was  backed  up  in  the  same  way.  Feller  off 
with  his  blanket  'n'  showed  me  how  they  did  it.  Beats  all.  Wust  of  it  was, 
couldn't  find  out  how  long  it  took  'em,  nor  how  the  job  was  lotted  out  to  each 
one." 

"I  suppose  they  made  their  women  do  it,"  said  Aunt  Maria  grimly.  "Men 
usually  put  all  the  hard  work  on  women." 

"  Wal,  women  folks  do  a  heap,"  admitted  Glover,  who  never  contradicted 
anybody.  "  But  there's  reason  to  entertain  a  hope  that  they  didn't  take  the 
brunt  of  it  here.  I  looked  over  into  the  gardens  down  b'low  the  town,  'n'  see 
men  plantin'  corn,  'n'  tendin'  peach  trees,  but  didn't  see  no  women  at  it.  The 
women  was  all  in  the  houses,  spinnin',  weavin',  sewin',  'n'  fixin'  up  ginerally." 

"Remarkable  people  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Maria.  "They  are  at  least  as  civ- 
ilized as  we.  Very  probably  more  so.  Of  course  they  are.  I  must  learn  wheth- 
er the  women  vote,  or  in  any  way  take  part  in  the  government.  If  so,  these  In- 
/     dians  are  vastly  our  superiors,  and  we  must  sit  humbly  at  their  feet." 

During  this  talk  the  worn  and  wounded  Thurstane  had  been  lying  asleep. 


OVERLAND.  75 

He  now  appeared  from  his  cloniiitory,  nodded  a  liasly  good-morning,  and  puslied 
for  the  door. 

"Train's  all  ri;;]it,"  said   Glover.     "Jest  took  a  squint  at  it.     Peaceful 's  a 
ship  becalmed.      Not  a  darned  Apache  in  sight." 
"You  are  sure  ?"  demanded  tlie  young  officer. 

"  Better  get  some  more  peacli-leaf  pain-l<illcr  on  your  arm  'n'  set  straight 
down  to  l>reakfast." 

"  If  the  Apaches  have  vamosed,  Coronado  miglit  join  us,"  suggested  Thur- 
stane. 

"Never!"  answered  Mrs.  Stanley  with  solemnity.  "His  ancestor  stormed 
Cibol.i  am!  ravaged  this  whole  country.  If  these  people  sliould  hear  his  name 
pronounced,  and  suspect  his  relationship  to  their  oppressor,  tliey  might  massacre 
him." 

"That  was  three  hundred  years  ago,"  smiled  the  wretch  of  a  lieutenant. 
"  It  doesn't  matter,"  decided  Mrs.  Stanley. 

And  so  Coronado,  thanks  to  one  of  his  splendid  inventions,  was  not  invited 
up  to  the  pueblo. 

The  travellers  spent  tlie  dny  in  resting,  in  receiving  a  succession  of  jjleasant, 
tidy  visitors,  and  in  watcliiiig  the  ways  of  the  little  community.  The  weather  was 
perfect,  for  while  the  season  was  tlie  middle  of  May,  and  the  latitude  that  of  Algeria 
and  Tunis,  they  were  nearly  six  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  the 
isolated  butte  was  wreathed  with  breezes.  It  was  delightful  to  sit  or  stroll  on 
the  landings  of  the  ramparts,  and  overlook  the  flourishing  landscape  near  at 
hand,  and  the  peaceful  industry  which  caused  it  to  bloom. 

Along  the  hillside,  amid  the  terraced  gardens  of  corn,  pumpkins,  guavas,  and 
peaches,  many  men  and  children  were  at  work,  with  here  and  there  a  woman. 

The  scene  had  not  only  its  charms,  but  its  marvels.  Besides  the  grand  en- 
vironment of  plateaus  and  mountains  in  the  distance,  there  were  near  at  hand 
freaks  of  nature  such  as  one  might  look  for  in  the  moon.  Nowhere  perhaps  has 
the  great  water  erosion  of  bygone  aeons  wrought  more  grotesquely  and  fantas- 
tically than  in  the  Moqui  basin.  To  the  west  rose  a  series  of  detached  buttes, 
presenting  forms  of  castles,  towers,  and  minarets,  which  looked  more  like  the 
handiwork  of  man  than  the  pueblo  itself.  There  were  piles  of  variegated  sand- 
stone, some  of  them  four  hundred  feet  in  height,  crowned  by  a  hundred  feet  of 
sombre  trap.  Internal  fire  had  found  vent  here  ;  its  outflowings  had  cr3stallized 
into  columnar  trap  ;  the  trap  had  protected  the  underlying  sandstone  from  cycles 
of  water-flow  ;  thus  had  been  fashioned  these  sublime  donjons  and  pinnacles. 

Tliey  were  not  only  sublime  but  beautiful.  The  sandstone,  reduced  bv  ages 
to  a  crumbling  marl,  was  of  all  colors.  There  were  layers  of  green,  reddish- 
brown,  drab,  purple,  red,  yellow,  pinkish,  slate,  light-brown,  orange,  while,  and 
banded.  Nature,  not  contented  with  building  enchanted  palaces,  had  frescoed 
them.  At  this  distance,  indeed,  the  separate  lints  of  the  strata  could  not  be  dis- 
cerned, but  their  general  effect  of  variegation  was  distinctly  visible,  and  the  re- 
»ult  was  a  landscape  of  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights. 

To  the  south  were  groups  of  crested  mounds,  some  of  them  resembling  the 
spreading  stumps  of  trees,  and  others  broad-mouthed  bells,  all  of  vast  magnitude. 
These  were  of  sandstone  marl,  the  caps  consisting  of  hard  red  and  green  shales, 
while  the  swelling  boles,  colored  by  gypsum,  were  as  white  as  loaf-sugar.  It  was 
another  specimen  of  the  handiwork  of  deluges  which  no  man  can  number, 
r^  Far  away  to  the  southwest,  and  yet  faintly  seen  through  the  crystalline  atmo- 
sphere, were  the  many-colored  knolls  and  rolls  and  cliffs  of  the  Painted  Desert. 


L 


^6  OVERLAND. 

Marls,  si  ales,  and  sandstones,  of  all  tints,  were  strewn  and  piled  i'nto  a  variega- 
ted vista  of  sterile  splendor.  Here  surely  enchantment  and  glamour  had  mad« 
undisputed  abode. 

All  day  the  wounded  and  the  women  reposed,  gazing  a  good  deal,  but  sleep- 
ing more.  During  the  afternoon,  however,  our  wonder-loving  Mrs.  Stanley 
roused  herself  from  her  lethargy  and  rushed  into  an  adventure  such  as  only  she 
knew  how  to  find.  In  the  morning  she  had  noticed,  at  the  other  end  of  the  pueblo 
from  her  quarters,  a  large  room  which  was  tVequented  by  men  alone.  It  might 
be  a  temple  ;  it  might  be  a  hall  for  the  transaction  of  public  business;  sucli 
were  the  diverse  guesses  of  the  travellers.  Into  the  mysteries  of  this  apartment 
Aunt  Maria  resolved  to  poke. 

She  reached  it;  nobody  was  in  it ;  suspicious  circumstance!  Aunt  Maria 
put  an  end  to  this  state  of  questionable  solitude  by  entering.  A  dark  room  ;  no 
light  except  from  a  trap  door  ;  a  very  proper  place  for  improper  doings.  At  one 
end  rose  a  large,  square  block  of  red  sandstone,  on  which  was  carved  a  round 
face  environed  by  rays,  probably  representing  the  sun.  Aunt  Maria  remembered 
the  sacrificial  altars  of  the  Aztecs,  and  judged  that  the  old  sanguinary  religion  of 
Tenochtitlan  was  not  yet  extinct.  She  became  more  convinced  of  this  terrific 
fact  when  she  discovered  that  the  red  tint  of  the  stone  was  deepened  in  various 
places  by  stains  which  resembled  blood. 

Three  or  four  horrible  suggestions  arose  in  succession  to  jerk  at  her  heart- 
strino-s.  Were  these  Moquis  still  in  the  habit  of  offering  human  sacrifices  ? 
Would  a  woman  answer  their  purpose,  and  particularly  a  white  woman  ?  If  they 
should  catch  her  there,  in  the  presence  of  their  deity,  would  they  consider  it  a 
leading  of  Providence  ?  Aunt  Maria,  notwithstanding  her  curiosity  and  courage, 
began  to  feel  a  desire  to  retreat. 

Her  reflections  were  interrupted  and  her  emotions  accelerated  by  darkness. 

Evidently  the  door  had  been  shut ;  then  she  heard  a  rustling  of  approaching  feet 

and  an  awful  whispering;   then  projected  hands  impeded  her  gropings  toward 

safety.     While  she  stood  still,  too  completely  blinded  to  fly  and  too  frightened  to 

r  scream,  a  light  gleamed  from  behind  the  altar  and  presently  rose  into  a  flame. 

/     The  sacred  fire  ! — she  knew  it  as  soon  as  she  saw  it ;  she  remembered  Prescott, 

\      and  recognized  it  at  a  glance. 

<^  By  its  flickering  rays  she  perceived  that  the  apartment  was  full  of  men,  all 
'  robed  in  blankets  of  ebony  blackness,  and  all  gazing  at  her  in  solemn  silence. 
Two  of  them,  venerable  elders  with  long  white  hair,  stood  in  front  of  the  others, 
makino-  genuflexions  and  signs  of  adoration  toward  the  carved  face  on  the  altar. 
Presently  they  advanced  to  her,  one  of  them  suddenly  seizing  her  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  pinioning  her  arms  behind  her,  while  the  other  drew  from  beneath  his 
robe  a  long  sharp  knife  of  the  glassy  flint  known  as  obsidian. 

At  this  point  the  horrified  Aunt  Maria  found  her  voice,  and  uttered  a  piercing 
l^scream. 

r       At  the  close  of  her  scream  she  by  a  supreme  effort  turned  on  her  side,  raised 
her  hands  to  her  face,  rubbed  her  eyes  open,  staled  at  Clara,  who  was  lying  near 
\    her,  and  mumbled,  "  I've  had  an  awful  nightmare." 

^  That  was  it.  There  was  no  altar,  nor  holy  fire,  nor  high  priest,  nor  flint 
lancet.  She  hadn't  been  anyv.'here,  and  she  hadn't  even  screamed,  except  in 
imao-ination.  She  was  on  her  blanket,  alongside  of  her  niece,  in  the  house  oi 
the  Moqui  chief,  and  as  safe  as  need  be. 


OVERLAND.  11 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Bl^t  the  visionary  terror  had  scarcely  gone  when  a  real  one  came.  Coronada 
appeared — Coronado,  the  descendant  of  the  great  Vasquez — Coronado,  whom  the 
Moquis  would  destroy  if  they  heard  his  name — of  wliom  they  would  not  leave 
two  limbs  or  two  fingers  together.  From  her  dormitory  she  saw  him  walk  into 
the  main  room  of  the  house  in  his  airiest  and  cheeriest  manner,  bowing  anil 
smiling  to  riglit,  bowing  and  smiling  to  left,  winning  Moqui  hearts  in  a  moment, 
a  charmer  of  a  Coronado.  He  shook  hands  with  the  chief;  he  shook  hands 
with  all  the  head  men  ;  next  a  hand  to  Thurstane  and  another  to  Glover.  Mrs. 
Stanley  heard  him  addressed  as  Coronado  ;  she  looked  to  see  him  scattered  in 
rags  on  the  floor  ;  she  tried  to  muster  courage  to  rush  to  his  rescue. 

There  was  no  outcry  of  rage  at  the  sound  of  the  fatal  name,  and  she  could 
not  perceive  that  a  Moqul  countenance  smiled  the  less  for  it. 

Coronado  produced  a  pipe,  filled  it,  lighted  it,  and  handed  it  to  the  chief. 
That  dignitary  took  it,  bowed  gravely  to  each  of  the  four  points  of  the  compass, 
exhaled  a  few  whiffs,  and  passed  it  to  his  next  blanketed  neighbor,  who  likewise 
saluted  the  four  cardinal  points,  smoked  a  little,  and  sent  it  on.  Mrs.  Stanley 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief;  the  pipe  of  pence  had  been  used,  and  there  would  be  no 
bloodshed  ;  she  saw  the  whole  be.iring  of  her  favorite's  audacious  manoeuvre  at  a 
glance. 

Coronado  now  glided  into  the  obscure  room  where  she  and  Clara  were  sitting 
on  their  blankets  and  skins.  He  kissed  his  hand  to  the  one  and  the  other,  and 
rolled  out  some  melodious  congratulations. 

"You  reckless  creature  !  "  whispered  Aunt  Maria.  "  How  dared  you  come 
up  here .' " 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  the  Mexican,  for  once  puzzled. 

"  Your  name  !     Your  ancestor  !  " 

"Ah!  !"  and  Coronado  smiled  mysteriously.  "There  is  no  danger.  We 
are  under  the  protection  of  the  American  eagle.  Moreover,  hospitalities  have 
been  interchanged." 

Next  the  experiences  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  first  Mrs.  Stanley's  ver- 
sion and  then  Coronado's,  were  related.  He  had  little  to  tell:  there  iiad  been 
a  quiet  night  and  much  slumber ;  the  Moquis  had  stood  guard  and  been  every 
way  friendly ;  the  Apaches  had  left  the  valley  and  gone  to  parts  unknown. 

The  truth  is  that  he  had  slept  more  than  half  of  the  time.  Journeying,  fight- 
ing, watching,  and  anxiety  had  exhausted  him  as  well  as  every  one  else,  and  en- 
abled him  to  plunge  into  slumber  with  a  delicious  consciousness  of  it  as  a 
restorative  and  a  luxury. 

Now  that  he  was  himself  again,  he  wondered  at  what  he  had  been.  For  two 
days  he  had  faced  death,  fighting  like  a  legionary  or  a  knight-errant,  and  in 
short  playing  the  hero.  What  was  there  in  his  nature,  or  what  had  there  been 
in  his  selfish  and  lazy  life,  that  was  akin  to  such  fine  frenzies  ?  As  he  remem- 
bered it  all,  he  hardly  knew  himself  for  the  same  old  Coronado. 

Well,  being  safe  again,  he  was  a  devoted  lover  again,  and  he  must  get  on 
with  his  courtship.  Considering  that  Clara  and  Thurstane,  if  left  much  together 
here  in  the  pueblo,  might  lead  each  other  into  the  temptation  of  a  betrothal,  he 
decided  that  he  must  be  at  hand  to  prevent  such  a  catastrophe,  and  so  here  he 
was.  Presently  he  began  to  talk  to  the  girl  in  Spanish  ;  then  he  begged  the 
aunt's  pardon  for  speaking  what  was  to  her  an  unknown  tongue  ;  but  he  had,  he 


V8  OVERLAND. 

said,  some  famil)'  matters  for  his  cousin's  ear  ;  would  Mrs.  Stanley  be  so  good 
as  to  excuse  liim  ? 

"  Certainly,"  returned  that  far-siglited  woman,  guessing  what  the  family  mat- 
ters might  be,  and  approving  them.  *'By  the  way,  I  have  something  to  do," 
she  added.     "  I  must  attend  to  it  immediately." 

r-^  By  this  time  she  remembered  all  about  her  nichtrnc-^  or^J  ;,',ie  was  in  a  state 
of  inflammation  as  to  the  Moqui  religion.  If  the  dream  were  true,  if  the  Mo- 
quis  were  in  the  habit  of  sacrificing  strong-minded  women  or  any  kind  of  women, 
she  must  know  it  and  put  a  slop  to  it.  Stepping  into  the  central  room,  where 
Thurstane  and  Glover  were  smoking  with  a  number  of  Indians,  she  said  in  her 
prompt,  positive  way,  "  I  must  look  into  these  people's  religion.  Does  an3body 
(_know  whether  they  have  any  ?  " 

The  Lieutenant  had  a  spark  or  two  of  information  on  the  sul)ject.  Through 
the  medium  of  a  Navajo  who  had  strolled  into  the  pueblo,  and  who  spoke  a  lit- 
tle Spanish  and  a  good  deal  of  Moqui,  he  had  been  catechising  the  chief  as  to 
manners,  customs,  etc. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  they  have  a  sacred  fire  which  they  never  suf- 
fer to  go  out.  The}^  are  believed  to  worship  the  sun,  like  tlie  ancient  Aztecs. 
The  sacred  fire  seems  to  confirm,  the  suspicion." 

"  Sacred  fire  !  vestal  virgins,  too,  I  suppose!  can  they  be  Romans?"  rea- 
soned Aunt  Maria,  beginning  to  douljt  Prince  Madoc. 

"  The  vestal  virgins  here  are  old  men,"  replied  Ralph,  wickedly  pleased  to 
get  a  joke  on  the  lad}'. 

"Oh!  The  Moquis  are  not  Romans,"  decided  ?>Irs  Stanley.  "  Well,  what 
do  these  old  men  do  ."^  " 

"  Keep  the  fire  burning." 

"  What  if  it  should  go  out  ?     What  would  happen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  responded  the  sub-acid  Thurstane. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you  did,"  said  Aunt  Maria  pettish!}'.  "  Captain  Glover,  I 
want  you  to  come  with  me." 

Followed  by  the  subservient  skipper,  she  marched  to  the  other  end  of  the 
pueblo.  There  was  the  mysterious  apartment ;  it  was  not  really  a  temple,  but 
a  sort  of  public  hall  and  general  lounging  place  ;  such  rooms  exist  in  the  Span- 
ish-speaking pueblos  of  Zuni  and  Laguna,  and  are  there  called  estiifas.  The  ex- 
plorers soon  discovered  that  the  only  entrance  into  the  eslufa  was  by  a  trap- 
door and  a  ladder.  Now  Aunt  ALaria  hated  ladders  :  they  were  awkward  for 
skirts,  and  m:)reover  they  made  her  giddy  ;  so  she  simply  got  on  her  knees  and 
peeped  through  the  trap-door.  But  there  was  a  fire  directly  below,  and  there 
was  also  a  pretty  strong  smell  of  pipes  of  tobacco,  so  that  she  saw  nothing  and 
was  stifled  and  disgusted.  She  sent  Glover  down,  as  people  lower  a  dog  into  a 
mine  where  gases  are  suspected.  After  a  brief  absence  the  skipper  returned  and 
reported. 

r'-  Pooty  sizable  room.  Dark  's  a  pocket  'n'  hot  's  a  footstove.'  Three  or 
four  Injuns  talkin'  'n'  smokin'.  Scrap  'f  a  fire  smoulderin'  in  a  kind  'f  standee 
fireplace  without  any  top." 

"That's  the  sacred  fire,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "How  many  old  men  were 
watching  it  ?" 

"  Didn't  see  any.'''' 

"  They  must  have  been  there.     Did  you  put  the  fire  out  ? " 
•'  No  water  handy,"  explained  the  prudent  Glover. 
"You  might  have — expectorated  on  it." 


OVERLAND.  '?» 

"Reckon  I  diiln't  miss  it,"  said  the  skipper,  who  was  a  chewer  of  tobacco 
and  a  dead  shot  witli  his  juice. 

"  Of  course  nothing  Iiappencd." 

"  Narv." 

"  I  knew  there  wouldn't,"  declared  the  lady  triumphantly.     "  Well,  now  let 
us  go  back.     We  know  something  about  the  religion  of  tiiese  people.     It  is  ce- 
tainly  a  very  interesting  study." 

"  Didn't  appear  to  me  much  I'k  a  temple,"  ventured  Glover.  "  Sh'd  say  t\vas 
a  kind  'f  gineral  smokin'  room  'n'  jawin'  place.  Git  together  there  'n'  talk  crops 
'n'  'lections  'n'  the  like." 

"Vou  must  be  mistaken,"  decided  Aunt   Maria.     "There  was  the  sacred 

1^        She  now  led  the  willing  captain  (for  he  was  as  inquisitive  as  a  monkey)  on  ? 
'      round  of  visits  to  the  houses  of  the  Moquis.     She  poked  smiling  tlnough  theii 
kitchens  and  bedroom.s,  and  gained  more  information  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected concerning  their  spinning  and  weaving,  cheerfully  spending  ten  nrmutes 
in  signs  to  obtain  a  single  idea. 

"  Never  shear  their  sheep  till  they  are  dead  !"  she  exclaimed  when  that  fact 
had  been  gestured  into  her  understanding.     "  Absurd  !     There's  another  speci- 
men  of  masculine  stupidity.     Til  warrant  you,  if  the  women  had   the  manage- 
I    mcnt  of  thing.s,  the  good-for-nothing  brutes  would  be  sheared  every  day." 
W       "  Jest  as  they  be  to  hum,"  slily  suggested  Glover,  who  knew  better. 
'  "  Certainly,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  aware  that  cows  were  milked  daily. 

The  Moquis  were  very  hospitable  ;  they  absolutely  petted  the  strangers.  At 
nearly  every  house  presents  were  offered,  such  as  gourds  full  of  corn,  strings  of 
dried  peaches,  guavas  as  big  as  pomegranates,  or  bundles  of  the  edible  wrap- 
ping paper,  all  of  which  Aunt  Maria  declined  with  magnanimous  waves  of  the 
hand  and  copious  smiles.  Curious  and  amiable  f^ices  peeped  at  the  visitors 
I     from  the  landings  and  doorways. 

y        "  How  mild  and  good  they  all  look  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria.     "  They  put  me  in 
'     mind  somehow  of  Shenstone's  pastorals.     How  humanizing  a  pastoral  life  is,  to 
be  sure  1     On  the  whole,  I  admire  their  way  of  not  siiearing  their  sheep  alive. 
L  It  isn't  stupidity,  but  goodness  of  heart.     A  most  amiable  people  !  " 

"Jest  so,"  assented  Glover.  "  How  it  must  go  ag'in  the  grain  with  'em  to 
take  a  skelp  when  it  comes  in  the  way  of  dooty  !  A  man  ouglUer  feel  willin'  to 
be  skelped  by  sech  tender-hearted  critters." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  1  don't  believe  they  ever  scalp  anybody— un- 
less it  is  in  self-defence." 

'•Dessay.  Them  fellers  that  went  down  to  fight  the  Apaches  was  painted 
UD  's  savage  's  meat-a.\es.  Probably  though  'twas  to  use  up  some  'f  their  paint 
that  was  a  wastin'.     Equinomical^.  I  sh'd  say." 

Mrs.  Stanley  did  not  see  her  way  clear  to  comment  either  upon  the  fact  or 
the  inference.  There  were  times  when  she  did  not  understand  Glover,  and  this 
was  one  of  the  times.  He  had  queer  twistical  ways  of  reasoning  which  often 
proved  the  contrary  of  what  he  seemed  to  want  to  prove  ;  and  she  had  con- 
cluded th.it  he  was  a  dark-minded  man  who  did  not  always  know  what  he  was 
drivino-  at ;  at  all  events,  a  man  not  invariably  comprehensible  by  clear  intellects. 
Her  attention  was  presently  engaged  by  a  stir  in  the  pueblo.  Great  things 
were  evidently  at  hand  ;  some  spectacle  was  on  (he  point  of  presentation  ;  what 
was  it  ?  Aunt  Maria  guessed  marriage,  and  Captain  Glover  guessed  a  war-dance  ; 
but  they  had  no  argument,  for  the  skipi'.er  gave  in.     Meantime  the  Moquis,  men, 


80  OVERLAND. 

women,  and  children,  all  dressed  in  their  gaj-est  raiment,  were  gathering  in  groups 
on  the  landings  and  in  the  square.     Presently  tlvere  was  a  crowd,  a  tliousancl  or 
1   fifteen  hundred  strong;     at  last  appeared  the  victims,  the  performers,  or  wh-it- 
ever  they  were. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  murmured  Aunt  IMaria.  "  Twenty  weddings  at  once  !  I  hopo 
divorce  is  frequent." 

Tw-enty  men  and  twenty  women  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  i)laza  in  doubltt 
file  and  faced  each  other. 

The  dance  began  ;  the  performers  furnished  their  own  music  ;  each  rolled 
out  a  deep  aw  aw  aw  under  his  visor. 

"  Sounds  like  a  swarm  of  the  biggest  kind  of  blue-bottle  flies  inside  'f  the 
biggest  kind  'fa  sugar  hogset,"  was  Glover's  description. 

The  movement  was  as  monotonous  as  the  melody.  The  men  and  womec 
faced  each  other  without  changing  positions  ;  there  was  an  alternate  lifting  of 
the  feet,  in  time  with  the  aw  aw  and  the  rattling  of  the  gourds  ;  now  and  then 
there  was  a  simultaneous  about  face. 

After  a  while,  open  ranks;  then  rugs  and  blankets  wetc  urougnt ;  the  maid- 
ens sat  down  and  the  men  danced  at  them  ;  trot  trot,  aw  aw,  and  rattle  rattle. 

Every  third  girl  now  received  a  large  empty  gourd,  a  grooved  board,  and 
the  dry  shoulder-bone  of  a  sheep.  Laying  the  board  on  the  gourd,  she  drew  the 
bone  sharply  across  the  edges  of  the  wood,  thus  producing  a  sound  like  a  watch- 
man's rattle. 

They  danced  once  on  each  side  of  the  square;  then  retired  to  a  house  ant/ 
rested  fifteen  minutes  ;  then  recommenced  their  trot.     Meanwhile  maidens  will 
large  baskets  ran  about  among  the  spectators,  distributing  meat,  roasted  ears  of 
corn,  sheets  of  bread,  and  guavas. 
L  So  the  gayety  went  on  until  the  sun  and  the  visitors  alike  withdrew. 

"After  all,  I  think  it  is  more  interesting  than  our  marriages,"  declared  AunI 

Maria.    "  I  wonder  if  we  ought  to  make  presents  to  the  wedded  couples.    The^^e 

are  a  good  many  of  them." 

C^         She  was  quite  amazed  when  she  learned  that  this  was  not  a  wedding,  but  a 

'      rain-dance,  and  that  the  maidens  whom  she  had  admired  were  bo3s  dressed  up 

in  female  raiment,  the  customs  of  the  Moquis  not  allowing  women  to  take  part 

I     in  public  spectacles. 

r^        "  What  exquisite  delicacy  !  "  was  her  consolatory  comment.    "  Well,  well,  this 
Is  the  golden  age,  truly." 

When  furtlier  informed  that  in  marriage  among  the  Aloquis  it  is  woman  who 
takes  the  initiative,  the  girl  pointing  out  the  young  man  of  her  heart  and  the 
girl's  father  making  the  offer,  which  is  never  refused,  Mrs.  Stanley  almost  shed 
tears  of  gratification.  Here  was  something  like  woman's  rights  ;  here  was  a  flush 
of  the  glorious  dawn  of  equality  between  the  sexes  ;  for  when  she  talked  of  equal- 
ity she  meant  female  preeminence. 

"  And  divorces  ?  "  she  eagerly  asked. 

"  They  are  at  the  pleasure  of  the  parties,"  explained  Thurstane,  who  had 
been  catechising  the  chief  at  great  length  through  his  Navajo. 

"  And  who,  in  case  of  a  divorce,  cares  for  the  children  ?  " 

"  The  grandparents." 

Aunt  Maria  came  near  clapping  her  hands.     This  was  better  than  Connecti- 
cut or  Indiana.     A  woman  here  might  successively  marry  all  tlie  men  whom  she 
might  successively  fancy,  and  thus  enjoy  a  perpetual  gush  of  the  affections  and 
I     an  unruffled  current  of  happiness. 


OVERLAXD.  81 

To  such  extreme  views  had  this  excellent  creature  been  led  by  brooding  over 
what  s!-.e  called  tlie  wron>;s  of  her  sex  and  the  legal  tyrannj-  of  the  other. 

But  we  must  return  to  Coronado  and  Clara.  The  man  had  come  up  to  the 
pueblo  on  purpose  to  have  a  plain  talk  with  the  girl  and  learn  exactly  what  she 
meant  to  do  with  him.  It  was  now  more  than  a  week  since  he  had  offered  him- 
self, and  in  that  time  she  h.ad  made  no  sign  which  indicated  her  purpose.  H^ 
had  looked  at  her  and  sighed  at  her  without  getting  a  response  of  any  sort. 
This  could  not  go  on  ;  he  must  know  how  she  felt  towards  him  ;  he  must  know 
how  much  she  cared  for  Thurstane.  How  else  could  he  decide  what  to  do  with 
her  and  with  //////  ' 

Thus,  while  the  other  members  of  the  party  were  watching  the  Moqui  dances, 
Coron.ado  and  Clara  were  talking  matters  of  the  heart,  and  were  deciding,  una- 
wares to  her,  questions  of  life  and  death. 


CHJ^PTER  XVI. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  when  Mrs.  Stanley  carried  off  skipper  Glovei 
to  help  her  investigate  the  religion  of  the  Moquis,  she  left  Coronado  alone  with 
Clara  in  one  of  the  interior  rooms  of  the  chiefs  house. 

Thurstane,  to  be  sure,  was  in  the  next  room  and  in  sight  ;  but  he  had  with 
him  the  chief,  two  other  leading  Maquis,  and  his  chance  Navajo  interpreter  ; 
they  were  miking  a  map  of  the  Stn  Juan  country  by  scratching  with  an  arrow- 
point  on  the  clay  floor;  everybody  was  interested  in  the  matter,  and  there  was 
a  pretty  smart  jabbering.  Thus  Coronado  could  say  his  say  without  being  over- 
heard or  interrupted. 

For  a  little  while  he  babbled  commonplaces.  The  truth  is  that  the  sight  of 
the  girl  had  unsettled  his  resolutions  a  little.  While  he  was  away  from  her,  he 
could  figure  to  himself  how  he  would  push  her  into  taking  him  at  once,  or  how, 
if  she  refused  him,  he  would  let  loose  upon  her  the  dogs  of  fate.  But  once  face 
to  face  with  her,  he  found  that  his  resolutions  had  dispersed  like  a  globu'e  of 
mercury  under  a  hammer,  and  that  he  needed  a  few  moments  to  scrape  them  to- 
gether again.  So  he  prattled  nothings  while  he  meditated  ;  and  you  would  have 
thought  that  he  cared  for  the  nothings.  He  had  that  faculty  ;  he  could  men- 
tally ride  two  horses  at  once  ;  he  would  have  made  a  good  diplomatist. 

His  mind  glanced  at  the  past  while  it  peered  into  the  future.  What  a  sinu- 
ous underground  plot  the  superficial  incidents  of  this  journey  covered  !  To 
his  fellow-travellers  it  was  a  straight  line  ;  to  him  it  was  a  complicated  and  end- 
less labyrinth.  Hosv  much  more  he  had  to  think  of  than  they  !  Only  he  knew 
that  Pedro  Mufioz  was  dead,  that  Clara  Van  Dieman  was  an  heiress,  that  she 
was  in  danger  of  being  abandoned  to  the  desert,  that  Thurstane  was  in  danger 
of  assassination.  Notliing  that  he  had  set  out  to  do  was  yet  done,  and  some  of 
it  he  must  absolutely  accomplish,  and  that  shortly.  How  much  ?  That  de- 
pended upon  this  girl.  If  she  accepted  him,  his  course  would  be  simple,  and  he 
would  be  spared  the  perils  of  crime. 

Meantime,  he  looked  at  Clara  even  more  frankly  and  calmly  than  slie  looked 
at  him.  He  showed  no  guilt  or  remorse  in  his  face,  because  he  felt  none  in  his 
heart.  It  must  be  understood  distinctly  that  the  man  was  almost  as  destitute 
of  a  conscience  as  it  is  possible  for  a  member  of  civilized  society  to  be.  He 
knew  what  the  world  called  right  and  wrong;  but  the  mere  opinion  of  the  world 


82  OVERLAND. 

had  no  weight  with  him  ;  that  is,  none  as  against  his  own  opinion.  His  rule  of 
life  was  to  do  what  he  wanted  to  do,  providing  he  could  accomplish  it  without 
receiving  a  damage.  You  can  hardly  imagine  a  being  whose  interior  existence 
was  more  devoid  of  complexity  and  of  mixed  motives  than  was  Coronado's. 
Thus  he  was  quite  able  to  contemplate  the  possible  death  of  Clara,  and  still  look 
her  calmly  in  the  face  and  tell  her  that  he  loved  her. 

The  girl  returned  his  gaze  tranquilly,  because  she  had  no  suspicions  of  his 
profound  wickedness.  By  nature  confiding  and  reverential,  slie  trusted  those 
who  professed  friendsliip,  and  respected  tiiose  who  were  her  elders,  especially 
if  they  belonged  in  any  manner  to  her  own  family.  Considering  herself  under 
obligations  to  Coronado,  and  not  guessing  that  he  was  capable  of  doing  her  a 
harm,  she  was  truly  grateful  to  him  and  wished  him  well  with  all  her  heart.  If 
her  eye  now  and  then  dropped  under  his,  it  was  because  she  feared  a  repetition 
of  his  offer  of  marriage,  and  hated  to  pain  him  with  a  refusal. 

Tlie  commonplaces  lasted  longer  than  the  man  had  meant,  for  he  could  not  bring 
himself  promptly  to  take  the  leap  of  fate.  But  at  last  came  the  dance  ;  the  chief 
and  his  comrades  led  Thurstane  away  to  look  at  it  ;  now  was  the  time  to  talk  of 
this  fateful  betrothal. 

"  Something  is  passing  outside,"  observed  Clara.     "  Shall  we  go  to  see  ?" 

"I  am  entirely  at  your  command,"  replied  Coronado,  with  his  charming  air 
of  gentle  respect.  "  But  if  you  can  give  me  a  few  minutes  of  your  time,  1  shall 
be  very  grateful." 

Clara's  heart  beat  violently,  and  her  cheeks  and  neck  flushed  with  spots 
of  red,  as  she  sank  back  upon  her  seat.  She  guessed  what  was  coming;  she 
had  been  a  good  deal  afraid  of  it  all  the  time  ;  it  was  her  only  cause  of  dreading 
Coronado. 

"  I  venture  to  hope  that  you  have  been  good  enough  to  think  of  what  I  said 
to  you  a  week  ago,"  he  went  on.  "Yes,  it  was  a  week  ago.  It  seems  to  me  a 
year." 

"  It  seems  a  long  time,"  stammered  Clara.  So  it  did,  for  the  days  since  had 
been  crammed  with  emotions  and  events,  and  they  gave  her  young  mind  an  im- 
pression of  a  long  period  passed. 

"  I  have  been  so  full  of  anxiety  !  "  continued  Coronado.  "  Not  about  our 
dangers,"  he  asserted  with  a  little  bravado.  "  Or,  rather,  not  about  mine.  For 
yuu  I  have  been  fearful.  The  possibility  that  you  might  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  Apaches  was  a  horror  to  me.  But,  after  all,  my  cliief  anxiety  was  to  know 
what  would  be  your  final  answer  to  me.  Yes,  my  beautiful  and  very  dear  cousin, 
strange  as  it  may  seem  under  our  circumstances,  this  thought  has  always  out- 
weighed with  me  all  our  dangers." 
r'  Coronado,  as  we  have  already  declared,  was  really  in  love  with  Clara.  It 
seems  incredible,  at  first  glance,  that  a  man  wlio  had  no  conscience  could  have 
a  heart.  But  the  assertion  is  not  a  fairy  story  ;  it  is  founded  in  solid  philoso- 
phy. It  is  true  that  Coronado's  moral  education  had  been  neglected  or  misdi- 
rected ;  that  he  was  either  born  indifferent  to  the  idea  of  duty,  or  had  become 
indifferent  to  it ;  and  that  he  was  an  egotist  of  the  first  water,  bent  solely  upon 
favoring  and  gratifying  himself.  But  while  his  nature  was  somewhat  chilled  by 
these  things,  he  had  the  hottest  of  blood  in  his  veins,  he  possessed  a  keen  per- 
ception of  the  beautiful,  and  so  he  could  desire  with  fury.  His  love  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  selfish  ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  capable  of  ruling  him 
\     tyrannically. 


OVERLAND.  83 

f  Just  At  this  moment  Iiis  intensity  of  feeling  made  him  physically  imi>osing  and 

almost  fascinating.  It  seemed  to  remove  a  veil  from  his  usually  filmy  black  eyes, 
and  give  him  power  for  once  to  throw  out  all  of  truth  that  there  was  in  his  soul. 
It  communicatea  to  his  voice  a  tremor  which  made  it  eloquent.  He  exhaled,  as 
it  were,  an  aroma  of  puissant  emotion  wiiicli  was  intoxicating,  and  which  could 
hardly  fail  to  act  upon  the  sensitive  nature  of  woman.  Clara  was  so  agitated  by 
this  influence,  tliat  for  the  moment  she  seeme<l  to  herself  to  know  no  man  in 
the  world  but  Corooado.  Even  while  she  tried  to  remember  Tliurstane,  he 
vanished  as  if  expelled  by  some  encliantment,  and  left  her  alone  in  life  with  her 
tempter.  Still  she  could  not  or  would  not  answer;  though  she  trembled,  she 
[__remained  speechless. 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife,"  resumed  Coronado,  seeing  thai  he  must 
urge  her.  "  I  venture  now  to  ask  you  again.  I  implore  you  not  to  refuse  me. 
I  cannot  be  refused.  It  would  make  me  utterly  wretched.  It  might  perhaps 
bring  wretchedness  upon  you.  I  hope  not.  I  could  not  wish  you  a  piun,  though 
you  should  give  me  many.  My  very  dear  Clara,  I  offer  you  the  only  love  of  my 
life,  and  tlie  only  love  that  I  shall  ever  offer  to  any  one.     Will  you  take  it  ?  " 

Clara  was  greatly  moved.  She  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity;  no  one  who 
lieard  him  could  have  doubted  it ;  he  was  sincere.  To  her,  young,  tender- 
hearted, capable  of  loving  earnestly,  beginning  already  to  know  what  love  is,  it 
seemed  a  horrible  thing  to  spurn  affection.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Thurstane, 
she  would  have  taken  Coronado  for  pity. 
Y       "  Oh,  my  cousin  !  "  she  sighed,  and  stopped  there. 

'  Coronado  drew  courage  from  tiie  kindly  title   of  relationsiiip,  and,  leaning 

gently  towards  her,  attempted  to  take  her  hand.     It  was  a  mistake;  she  was 
strangely  shocked  by  his  touch  ;  she  perceived  that  she  did  not  like  him,  and 
■    she  drew  away  from  him. 

P»       "  Thank  you  for  that  word,"  he  whispered.     "  Is  it  the  kindest  that  you  can 
give  me  ?     Is  there ?  " 

"  Coronado  !  "  she  interrupted.  "  Tliis  is  all  an  error.  See  here.  I  am  not 
an  independent  creature.  I  am  a  30ung  girl.  I  owe  some  duty  .somewhere. 
My  father  and  mother  are  gone,  but  I  have  a  grandfather.  Coronado,  he  is  the 
head  of  my  family,  and  I  ought  not  to  marry  without  his  permission.  Why  can 
you  not  wait  until  we  are  with  Muiioz  ?  " 

There  she  suddenly  dropped  her  head  between  the  palms  of  her  hands.  It 
struck  her  that  she  was  hypocritical  ;  tliat  even  with  the  consent  of  Muiioz  she 
would  not  marry  Coronado  ;  that  it  was  her  duty  to  tell  him  so. 

"  My  cousin,  I  have  not  told  the  whole  truth,"  she  added,  after  a  terrible 
struggle.  "  I  would  not  marry  any  one  without  first  laying  the  case  before  my 
grandfather.     But  that  is  not  all.     Coronado,  I  cannot — no,  I  cannot  marry  you," 

The  man  without  a  conscience,  the  man  who  was  capable  of  planning  and  or- 
dering murder,  turned  pale  under  this  announcement. 

Notwithstanding  its  commonness,  notwithstanding  that  it  has  been  described 
until  the  subject  is  hackneyed,  notwithstanding  that  it  has  become  a  laughing- 
stock for  many,  even  including  poets  and  novelists,  there  is  probably  no  heart- 
pain  keener  than  disappointment  in  love.  The  shock  of  it  is  like  a  deep  stab  ; 
it  not  merely  tortures,  but  it  instantly  sickens  ;  the  anguish  is  much,  but  the 
sense  of  helplessness  is  more  ;  the  lover  who  is  refused  feels  not  unlike  the  sol- 
dier who  is  wounded  to  death. 

This  sorrow  compares  in  dignity  and  terror  with  the  most  sublime  sorrows 


84  OVERLAND. 

of  vvliicli  liumanlty  is  capable.  The  death  of  a  parent  or  child,  ihougli  rendered 
more  imposing  to  tlie  spectator  by  the  ceremonies  of  the  sepulchre,  does  not 
chill  the  heart  more  deeply  than  the  death  of  love.  It  lasts  also;  many  a  hu- 
man being  has  carried  the  marks  of  it  for  life  ;  and  surely  duration  of  effect  ia 
proof  of  power.  We  are  serious  in  making  these  declarations,  strange  as  thej 
may  seem  to  a  satirical  age.  What  we  have  said  is  strictly  true,  notwithstand 
ing  the  mockery  of  those  who  have  never  loved,  or  the  incredulity  of  those  who, 
having  loved,  have  never  lost.  But  probably  only  the  wretchedly  initiated  will 
believe. 

Coronado,  though  selfish,  inflimous,  and  atrocious,  was  so  far  susceptible  of 
affection  that  he  was  susceptible  of  suffering      The  simple  fact  of  pallor  in  that 
[__hardened  face  was  sufficient  proof  cff  torture 

However,  it  stood  him  in  hand  to  recover  his  self-possession  and  plead  his 
suit.  There  was  too  much  at  stake  in  this  cause  for  him  to  let  it  go  without  a 
struggle  and  a  vehement  one.  Although  he  had  seen  at  once  that  the  girl  was 
in  earnest,  he  tried  to  believe  that  she  was  not  so,  and  that  he  could  move  her. 

"My  dear  cousin  !  "  he  implored  in  a  voice  that  was  mellow  with  agitation, 
"don't  decide  against  me  at  once  and  forever.  1  must  have  some  hope.  Pity 
me." 

"Ah,  Coronado  !     Why  will  you  ?"  urged  Clara,  in  great  trouble. 

"  I  must  !  You  must  not  stop  me  !  "  he  persisted  eagerlv.  "  My  life  is  in 
It.  I  love  you  so  that  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  end  if  you  will  not  hearken  to 
me.  I  shall  be  driven  to  desperation.  Why  do  you  turn  away  from  me  ?  Is  it 
my  fault  that  I  care  for  you  ?     It  is  your  own.     You  are  so  beautiful  !" 

"  Coronado,  I  wish  1  were  very  ugly,"  murmured  Clara,  for  the  moment 
sincere  in  so  wishing. 

"Is  tljere  anything  you  dislike  in  me?  I  have  been  as  kind  as  I  knew  how 
to  be." 

"  It  is  true,  Coronado.  You  have  overwhelmed  me  with  your  goodness.  I 
could  go  on  my  knees  to  thank  you." 

«  Then— why  ?  " 

■*  Ah  !  why  will  you  force  me  to  say  hard  things  ?  Don't  you  see  that  it  tor- 
tures me  to  refuse  you  ?  " 

"  Then  why  refuse  me  ?     Why  torture  us  both  ?  " 

"Better  a  little  pain  now  than  much  through  life." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  never  can ?"     He  could  not  finish  the 

question. 

"  It  is  so,  Coronado.  I  never  could  have  said  it  myself.  But  you  have  said 
it.     J  never  shall  love  you." 

Once  more  the  man  felt  a  cutting  and  sickening  wound,  as  of  a  bullet  pene- 
trating a  vital  part.  Unable  for  the  moment  to  say  another  word,  he  rose  ami 
walked  the  room  in  silence. 

"  Coronado,  you  don't  know  how  sorry  I  am  to  grieve  you  so,"  cried  the  girl, 
almost  sobbing.  "  It  seems,  too,  as  if  I  were  ungrateful.  I  can  only  beg  your 
pardon  for  it,  and  pray  that  Heaven  will  reward  you." 

"Heaven!"  he  returned  impatiently.  "You  are  my  heaven.  Yon  are  the 
cnlv  heaven  that  I  know." 

"  Oh,  Coronado  !  Don't  say  that.  I  am  a  poor,  sinful,  unworthy  creature. 
Perhaps  I  could  not  make  any  one  happy  long.  Believe  me,  Coronado,  I  am  not 
worthy  to  be  loved  as  you  love  me." 


OVERLAND.  85 

y  "You  are  1 "  lie  said,  turning  on  her  passionately  and  advancing  close  to  her 
"You  are  worthy  of  my  life-long  love,  and  you  shall  have  it.  You  sliall  have  it, 
whether  you  wish  it  or  not.  You  shall  not  escape  it.  I  will  pursue  you  with  it 
wherever  you  go  and  as  long  as  you  live." 

"Oh  !  You  frighten  me.  Coronado,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  talk  to  nic  in  that 
way.     I  am  afraid  of  you." 

"What  is  the  cause  of  this?"  lie  demanded,  hoping  to  daunt  her  into  sul> 
niission.     "There  is  something  in  my  way.     What  is  it?     Who  is  it  ?" 

Clara's  paleness  turned  in  an  instant  to  scarlet. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  he  went  on,  his  voice  suddenly  becoming  hoarse  with  excite- 
ment.    "  It  is  some  one.     Is  it  this  American  ?     Tiiis  boy  of  a  lieutenant  ?" 

Clara,  trembling  with  an  agitation  which  was  only  in  part  dismay,  remained 
speechless. 

"  Is  it  ?"  he  persisted,  attempting  to  seize  her  hands  and  looking  her  fiercely 
in  the  eyes.     "  Is  it  ?  " 
i^  "Coronado,  stand  back  !  "  said  Clara.     "  Don't  you  try  to  take  my  hands  I  *' 

She  was  erect,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  cheeks  spotted  with  crimson,  her  ex- 
pression strangely  imposing. 

The  man's  courage  drooped  the  moment  he  saw  that  she  had  turned  at  bay. 
He  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  pressed  his  temples  between  his  palms 
to  quiet  their  throbbing,  and  made  an  eftort  to  recover  his  self-possession. 
When  he  returned  to  her,  after  nearly  a  minute  of  silence,  he  spoke  quite  in  his 
natural  manner, 

"  This  must  pass  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "  I  see  that  it  is  useless  to  talk 
to  you  of  it  now." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,  Coronado." 

"  Let  it  go,"  he  replied,  waving  his  hand.     "  I  can't  speak  more  of  it  now." 

She  wanted  to  .say,  "  Try  never  to  speak  of  it  again ;  "  but  she  did  not  dare 
to  anger  him  further,  and  she  remained  silent. 

"Shall  we  go  to  see  the  dance  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  will,  if  you  wish  it." 

"But  you  would  rather  stay  alone  ?" 

"If  you  please,  Coronado." 

Bowing  with  an  air  of  profound  respect,  he  went  his  way  alone,  glanced  at 
the  games  of  the  Moquis,  and  hurried  back  to  camp,  meditating  as  he  went. 

What  novf  should  be  done  ?  He  was  in  a  state  of  fury,  full  of  plottings  of 
desperation,  swearing  to  himself  that  he  would  show  no  mcrcj'.  Thurstane  must 
die  at  the  first  opportunity,  no  matter  if  his  death  should  kill  Clara.  And  she? 
There  he  hesit.Ttcd  ;  he  could  not  yet  decide  what  to  do  with  her  ;  could  not  le- 
solve  to  abandon  her  to  the  wilderness. 

But  to  bring  about  any  part  of  his  projects  he  must  plunge  still  deeper  info 
the  untraversed.  To  him,  by  the  way,  as  to  many  others  who  have  had  murder 
at  heart,  it  seemed  as  if  the  proper  time  and  place  for  it  would  never  be  found. 
Not  now,  but  by  and  by  ;  not  here,  but  further  on.  Yes,  it  must  be  further  on  ; 
they  must  set  out  as  soon  as  possible  for  the  .San  Juan  countr}';  they  must  get 
into  wilds  never  traversed  by  civilized  man. 

To  go  thither  in  wagons  he  had  already  learned  was  impossible.  The  re- 
gion was  a  mass  of  mountains  and  rocky  plateaux,  almost  entirely  destitute  of 
water  and  forage,  and  probably  forever  impassable  by  wheels.  The  vehicles 
must  be  left  here  ;  the  whole  party  must  take  saddle  for  the  northern  desert ; 
gnd  then  must  come  death — or  deaths. 


A&  OVERLAND. 

But  while  Coronado  was  thus  planning  destruction  for  others,  a  noiseless, 
patient,  and  ferocious  enmity  was  setting  its  ambush  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Shortly  after  the  safe  arrival  of  the  train  at  the  base  of  the  Moqu?  bluflj 
and  wliile  the  repulsed  and  retreating  warriors  of  Delgadito  were  still  in  sight 
two  strange  Indians  cantered  up  to  the  papk  of  wagons. 

They  were  fine-looking  fellows,  with  high  aquiline  featiires,  the  prominent 
clieek-bones  and  copper  complexion  of  the  red  race,  and  a  bold,  martial,  trooper- 
like expression,  which  was  not  without  its  wild  good-humor  and  gayetv.  One 
was  dressed  in  a  white  woollen  hunting-sliirt  belted  around  the  waist,  wliite 
woollen  trousers  or  drawers  reaching  to  the  knee,  and  deerskin  leggins  and  moc- 
casins. The  other  had  the  same  costume,  except  that  his  drawers  were  brown 
imd  his  hunting-shirt  blue,  while  a  blanket  of  red  and  black  stripes  drooped  from 
his  shoulders  to  his  heels.  Their  coarse  black  hair  was  done  up  behind  in  thick 
braids,  and  kept  out  of  their  faces  by  a  broad  band  around  the  temples.  Each 
had  a  lance  eight  or  ten  feet  long  in  his  hand,  and  a  bow  and  quiver  slung  at  hi.i 
f    waist-belt.     These  men  were  Navajos  (Na-va-hos). 

Two  joliy  and  impudent  braves  were  these  visitors.  They  ate,  smoked, 
lounged  about,  cracked  jokes,  and  asked  for  liquor  as  independently  as  if  tiie 
camp  were  a  tavern.  Rebuffs  only  made  them  grin,  and  favors  only  led  to  fur- 
ther demands.  It  was  hard  to  say  whether  they  were  most  wonderful  for  good- 
nature or  impertinence. 

Coronado  was  civil  to  them.  The  Navajos  abide  or  migrate  on  the  south, 
the  north,  and  the  west  of  the  Moqui  pueblas.  He  was  in  a  mnnner  within  their 
country,  and  it  was  still  necessary  for  h'm  to  traverse  a  broad  >■  Wretch  of  it,  espe- 
cially if  he  should  attempt  to^reach  tlie  San  Juan.  Besides,  h*^  wanted  them  to 
warn  the  Apaches  out  of  the  neighborliood  and  thus  avert  from  '>'S  head  the  ven- 
geance of  Rlanga  Colorada.  Accordingly  he  gave  this  pair  of  rcvstering  troop- 
ers a  plentiful  dinner  and  a  taste  of  aguardiente.  Toward  sunset  tHey  departed 
in  high  good-humor,  promising  to  turn  oack  the  hoofs  of  the  Apache  h.orses  ; 
and  when  in  the  morning  Coronado  saw  no  Indians  on  the  plain,  he  joyously 
trusted  that  his  visitors  had  fulfilled  their  agreement. 

Somewhere  or  other,  within  the  next  day  or  two,  there  was  a  grand  council 
of  the  two  tribes.  We  know  little  of  it ;  we  can  guess  that  Manga  Colorada 
must  have  made  great  concessions  or  splendid  promises  to  the  Navajos  ;  but  it 
is  only  certain  that  he  obtained  leave  to  traverse  their  country.  Having  secured 
this  privilege,  he  posted  liimself  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  to  the  southwest  of  Te- 
pua,  behind  a  butte  which  was  extensive  enough  to  conceal  his  wild  cavalry, 
even  in  its  grazings.  He  undoubtedly  supposed  that,  when  the  train  should  quit 
its  shelter,  it  would  go  to  the  west  or  to  the  south.  In  either  case  he  was  in  a 
position  to  fall  upon  it. 

Did  the  savage  know  anything  about  Coronado?  Had  he  attacked  his  wag- 
ons without  being  aware  that  they  belonged  to  the  man  who  had  paid  him  five 
hundred  dollars  and  sent  him  to  harry  Bernalillo?  Or  had  he  attacked  in  full 
knowledge  of  this  f^ict,  because  he  had  been  beaten  off  the  southern  trail,  and 
believed  that  he  had  been  lured  thither  to  be  beaten  ?  Had  he  learned,  eithei 
from  Apaclies  or  Navajos,  whose  hand  it  was  that  slew  his  boy  ?  We  can  onH 
ask  these  questions. 


OVERLAND.  81 

I  One  thin^j  alone  is  positive  :  there  was  a  debt  of  blood  to  be  paid.  An  In- 
dian war  is  often  the  result  of  a  private  vendetta.  The  brave  is  bound,  not  onlj 
by  natural  aftection  and  family  pride,  but  still  more  powerfully  by  sense  of  honor 
and  by  public  opinion,  to  avenge  the  slaughter  of  a  relative.  Whether  he  wishes 
it  or  not,  and  frequently  no  doubt  when  lie  does  not  wish  it,  he  must  black  his 
face,  sing  his  death-song,  set  out  alone  if  need  be,  encounter  labor.s,  hardships, 
and  dangers,  and  never  rest  until  his  sanguinary  account  is  settled.  The  tyran- 
ny of  Mrs.  Grundy  in  civilized  cities  and  villages  is  nothing  to  the  despotism 
which  she  exercises  among  those  slaves  of  custom,  the  red  men  of  the  American 
wildernesses.     Manga  Colorada,  bereaved  and  with  blackened  face,  lay  in  wait 

/ for  the  first  step  of  the  emigrants  outsitle  of  their  city  of  refuge. 

We  must  return  to  Coronado.  Although  Clara's  rejection  of  his  suit  left  hini 
vindictively  and  desperately  eager  for  a  catastrophe  of  some  sort,  a  week  elapsed 
before  he  dared  take  his  mad  plunge  into  the  northern  desert.  It  was  a  hun- 
dred miles  to  the  San  Juan  ;  the  intervening  country  was  a  waste  of  rocks,  al- 
most entirely  destitute  of  grass  and  water  ;  the  mules  and  horses  must  recruit 
tiieir  full  strength  before  they  could  undertake  such  a  journey.  They  must  not 
only  be  strong  enough  to  go,  but  they  must  have  vital  force  left  to  return. 

It  is  astonishing  what  labors  and  dangers  the  man  was  willing  to  face  in  his 
vain  search  for  a  spot  where  he  might  commit  a  crime  in  safety.  Such  a  spot  is 
as  difficult  to  discover  as  the  Fountain  of  Youth  or  the  Terrestrial  Paradise. 
More  than  once  Coronado  sickened  of  his  seemingly  hopeless  and  ever  length- 
ening pilgrimage  of  sin.  Not  because  it  was  sinful — lie  had  little  or  no  con- 
science, remember — only  because  it  was  perplexing  and  perilous. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Thurstane  protested  against  the  crazy  trip  northward. 
Coronado  sometimes  argued  tor  his  plan  ;  said  the  route  improved  as  it  ap- 
proached the  river;  hoped  the  party  would  not  be  broken  up  in  this  manner; 
declared  that  he  could  not  sp.^re  his  dear  friend  the  lieutenant.  Another  time 
he  calmly  smoked  his  cigarito,  looked  at  Thurstane  with  filmy,  expressionless 
eyes,  and  said,  "Of  course  you  are  not  obliged  to  accompany  us." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  quitting  you,"  was  the  rather  indignant  re- 
ply of  the  young  fellow. 

At  this  declaration  Coronado's  long  black  eyebrows  twitched,  and  his  lips 
curled  with  the  smile  of  a  puma,  showing  his  teeth  disagreeably. 

"  My  dear  lieutenant,  that  is  so  like  you  !  "  he  said.  "  I  own  that  I  expected 
it     Many  thanks." 

Thurstane's  blue-black  eyes  studied  this  enigmatic  being  steadily  and  almost 
angrily.  He  could  not  at  all  comprehend  the  fellow's  bland  obstinacy  and  reck- 
lessness. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  Let  us  start  on  our  wild-goose  chase. 
Wliat  I  object  to  is  taking  the  women  with  us.  As  for  myself,  I  am  anxious  to 
reach  the  S.in  Juan  and  get  something  to  report  about  it." 

'•  The  ladies  will  have  a  day  or  two  of  discomfort,"  returned  Coronado  ;  "  but 
you  and  I  will  see  that  they  run  no  danger." 

Nine  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  emigrants  at  Tegua  they  set  out  for  the 
San  Juan.  The  wagons  were  left  parked  at  the  base  of  the  butte  under  the  care 
of  the  Moquis.  The  expedition  was  reorganized  as  follows  :  On  horseback, 
Clara,  Coronado,  Thurstane,  Texas  Smith,  and  four  Mexicans;  on  mules,  Mrs. 
Stanley,  Glover,  the  three  Indian  women,  the  four  soldiers,  and  the  ten  drivers 
and  muleteers.     There  were  besides  eighteen  burden  mules  loaded  with  provis* 


88  OVERLAND. 

ions  and  other  baggage.  In  all,  five  women,  twenty-two  men,  and  foity-five  an- 
imals, 

Tlie  Moquis,  to  whom  some  stores  and  small  presents  were  distributed,  over- 
flowed witli  hospitable  offices.  The  chief  had  a  couple  of  slieep  slaughtered  for 
the  travellers,  and  scores  of  women  brought  little  baskets  of  meal,  corn,  guavas, 
etc.  As  the  strangers  left  the  pueblo  both  sexes  and  all  ages  gathered  on  the 
landinr;;s,  grouped  about  the  stairways  and  ladders  which  led  down  tiie  rampart, 
and  followed  for  some  distance  along  the  declivity  of  the  butte  holding  out  their 
simple  offerings  and  urging  acceptance.  Aunt  Maria  was  more  than  ever  in  rap* 
tures  with  Moquis  and  women. 

The  chief  and  several  others  accompanied  the  cavalcade  for  eight  or  ten 
miles  in  order  to  set  it  on  the  right  trail  for  the  river.  Uut  not  one  would  vol- 
unteer as  a  guide  j  all  shook  their  heads  at  the  suggestion.  "Navajos!  Apaches  I 
Comanches  I  " 

They  had  from  the  first  advised  against  the  expedition,  and  they  now  renewed 
their  expostulations.  Scarcely  any  grass  ;  no  water  except  at  long  distances  ;  a 
barren,  difficult,  dangerous  country  :  such  was  the  meaning  of  their  dumb  show. 
On  the  summit  of  a  lofty  bluff  which  commanded  a  vast  view  toward  the  north, 
they  took  their  leave  of  the  party,  struck  off  in  a  rapid  trot  toward  the  pueblo, 
and  never  relaxed  their  speed  until  they  were  out  of  sight. 

The  adventurers  now  had  under  tlieir  eyes  a  large  part  of  the  region  which 
they  were  about  to  traverse.  For  several  miles  the  landscape  was  rolling  ;  then 
came  elevated  plateaux  rising  in  successive  steps,  the  most  remote  being  appar- 
ently sixty  miles  away  ;  and  the  colossal  scene  was  bounded  by  isolated  peaks, 
at  a  distance  which  could  not  be  estimated  with  anything  like  accuracy.  Ranges, 
buttes,  pinnacles,  monumental  crags,  gullies,  shadowy  chasms,  the  beds  of  per- 
ished rivers,  the  stony  wrecks  left  by  unrecorded  deluges,  diversified  this  mon- 
strous, sublime,  and  savage  picture.  Only  here  and  there,  separated  by  vast  in- 
tervals of  barrenness,  could  be  seen  minute  streaks  of  verdure.  In  general  the 
'mdscape  was  one  of  inhospitable  sterility.  It  could  not  be  imagined  by  men 
accustomed  only  to  fertile  regions.  It  seemed  to  have  been  taken  from  some 
nlanet  not  yet  prepared  for  human,  nor  even  for  beastly  liabitation.  Tlie  emo- 
'ion  which  it  aroused  was  not  that  which  usually  springs  from  the  contemp'a- 
'ion  of  the  larger  aspects  of  nature.  It  was  not  enthusiasm;  it  was  aversion 
und  despair. 

Clara  gave  one  look,  and  then  drew  her  hat  over  her  eyes  with  a  shudder,  not 
wishing  to  see  more.  Aunt  Maria,  heroic  and  constant  as  she  was  or  tried  to 
oe,  almost  lost  faith  in  Coronado  and  glanced  at  him  suspiciously.  Thurstane, 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  saddle,  stared  straight  before  him  with  a  grim  frown, 
meanwhile  thinking  of  Clara.  Coronado's  eyes  were  filmy  and  incomprehensi- 
ble ;  he  was  planning,  querying,  fearing,  almost  trembling;  when  Iie  gave  the 
word  to  advance,  it  was  without  looking  up.  There  was  a  general  feeling  that 
here  before  them  lay  a  fate  whicli  could  only  be  met  blindfold. 

Now  came  a  long  descent,  avoiding  precipices  and  impracticable  slopes, 
winding  from  one  stony  foot-hill  to  anollier,  until  the  party  reached  what  had 
seemed  a  plain.  It  was  a  plain  because  it  was  amid  mountains  ;  a  plain  consist- 
ing of  rolls,  ridges,  ravines,  and  gullies  ;  a  plain  with  hardly  an  acre  of  level 
land.  All  day  they  journeyed  through  its  savage  interstices  and  struggled  with 
its  monstrosities  of  trap  and  sandstone.  Twice  they  halted  in  narrow  valleys, 
where  a  little  loam  had  collected  and  a  little  moisture  had  been  retained,  afford- 


OVERLAND.  89 

Ing  meagre  sustenance  to  some  tliin  <;r.iss  and  scattered  Ijuslies.  Tlic  animals 
browsed,  but  tliere  was  nolliing  for  tliem  to  drink,  and  all  began  to  sulVcr  with 
thirst. 

It  was  seven  in  the  evening,  and  the  sun  had  already  gone  down  behind  the 
sullen  barrier  of  a  gigantic  plateau,  when  they  reached  tlie  mouth  of  the  canon 
which  had  once  contained  a  river,  and  discovered  by  the  merest  accident  that  it 
still  treasured  a  shallow  pool  of  stagnant  water.  The  fevered  mules  plunged  in 
headlong  and  drank  greeilily  ;  the  riders  were  perforce  obliged  to  sUike  thcil 
thirst  after  them.  There  was  a  hastily  eaten  supper,  and  then  came  the  only 
luxury  or  even  comfort  of  the  day,  the  sound  and  delicious  sleep  of  great  weari- 
ness. 

Repose,  however,  was  not  for  all,  inasmucli  as  Thurstane  had  reorganized 
liis  system  of  guard  duty,  and  seven  of  the  party  had  to  stand  sentry.  It  wa.s 
Coronado's  tour ;  he  had  chosen  to  take  his  watch  at  the  start ;  there  would  b(i 
three  nights  on  tliis  stretch,  and  the  first  would  be  the  easiest.  He  was  tired, 
for  lie  had  been  fourteen  hours  in  the  saddle,  allhongh  the  distance  covered  was 
only  forty  miles.  But  much  as  he  craved  rest,  he  kept  awake  until  midnight, 
now  walking  up  and  down,  and  now  smoking  his  eternal  cigarito. 

There  was  a  vast  deal  to  remember,  to  plan,  to  hope  for,  to  dread,  and  to 
hate.  Once  he  sat  down  beside  the  unconscious  Thurstane,  and  meditated 
shooting  him  tlirough  the  head  as  he  lay,  and  so  making  an  end  of  that  obstacle. 
But  he  immediately  put  this  idea  aside  as  a  frenz}-,  generated  by  the  fever  of 
fatigue  and  sleeplessness.  A  dozen  times  he  was  assaulted  by  a  lazy  or  coward- 
ly temptation  to  give  up  the  chances  of  the  desert,  push  back  to  the  Bernalillo 
route,  leave  everything  to  fortune,  and  take  disappointment  meekly  if  it  should 
come.  When  the  noon  of  night  arrived,  he  had  decided  upon  nothing  but  to 
Dlunder  ahead  by  sheer  force  of  momentum,  as  if  he  had  been  a  rolling  bowlder 
«nstead  of  a  clever,  resolute  Garcia  Coronado. 

The  truth  is,  that  his  circumstances  were  too  mighty  for  him.  He  had 
launched  them,  but  he  could  not  steer  tiiem  as  he  would,  and  they  were  carry- 
ing him  he  knew  not  whitiier.  At  one  o'clock  he  awoke  Texas  Smith,  who  was 
now  his  sergeant  of  the  guard  ;  but  instead  of  enjoining  some  instant  atrocity 
upon  him,  as  he  had  more  than  once  that  ni<;ht  purposed,  he  merely  passed  the 
ordinary  instructions  of  the  watch  ;  then,  rolling  himself  in  his  blankets,  he  fell 
asleep  as  quickly  and  calmly  as  an  infant. 

At  daybreak  commenced  another  struggle  with  the  desert.  It  was  still  sixty 
miles  to  the  San  Juan,  over  a  series  of  savage  sandstone  plateaux,  said  to  be  en- 
tirely destitute  of  water.  If  the  animals  could  not  accomplish  the  distance  in 
two  days,  it  seemed  as  if  the  party  must  perish.  Coronado  went  at  his  work,  so 
to  speak,  head  foremost  and  with  his  hat  over  his  eyes.  Nevertheless,  when  it 
came  to  the  details  of  his  mad  enterprise,  he  managed  them  admirably.  He  was 
energetic,  indefatigable,  courageous,  cheerful.  All  day  he  was  hurrying  the 
cavalcade,  r.nd  yet  watching  its  ability  to  endure.  His  "  Forward,  forward,"  al- 
ternated with  his  "Carefully,  carefully."  Now  '■'■  Adclante,'''  and  now  '■•Con 
juicio" 

About  two  in  tlie  afternoon  they  reached  a  little  nook  of  sparse  grass,  which 
the  beasts  gnawed  perfectly  bare  in  half  an  hour.  No  water  ;  the  horses  were 
uselessly  jaded  in  searching  for  it;  beds  of  trap  and  gullies  of  ancient  rivers 
were  explored  in  vain  ;  the  horrible  rocky  wilderness  was  as  dry  as  a  bone. 
Meanwhile,  the  fatigue  of  scrambling  and  stumbling  thus  far  had  been  enormous. 


9ft  OVERLAND. 

It  had  been  necessary  to  ascend  plateau  after  plateau  by  sinuous  and  crumbling 
ledges,  which  at  a  distance  looked  impracticable  to  goats.  More  than  once,  in 
face  of  some  beetling  precipice,  or  on  tlie  brink  of  some  gaping  chasm,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  journey  had  come  to  an  end.  Long  detours  had  to  be  made  in  order  to 
connect  points  which  were  only  separated  by  slight  intervals.  The  whole  region 
was  seamed  by  the  jagged  zigzags  of  canons  worn  by  rivers  which  had  flowed 
for  thousands  of  years,  and  then  for  thousands  of  years  more  had  been  non-ex- 
istent. If,  at  the  commencement  of  one  of  these  mighty  grooves,  you  took  the 
wrong  side,  you  could  not  regain  the  trail  without  returning  to  the  point  of  error, 
for  crossing  was  impossible. 

A  trail  there  was.  It  is  by  this  route  that  the  Utes  and  Payoclies  of  the 
Colorado  come  to  trade  with  the  Moquis  or  to  plunder  them.  But,  as  may  be 
supposed,  it  is  a  journey  which  is  not  often  made  even  by  savages  ;  and  the 
cavalcade,  throughout  the  whole  of  its  desperate  push,  did  not  meet  a  human 
being.  Amid  the  monstrous  expanse  of  uninhabited  rock  it  seemed  lost  beyond 
assistance,  forsaken  and  cast  out  by  mankind,  doomed  to  a  death  which  was  to 
have  no  spectator.  Could  you  have  seen  it,  you  would  have  thought  of  a  train  of 
ants  endeavoring  to  cross  a  quarry ;  and  you  would  have  judged  that  the  struggle 
could  only  end  in  starvation,  or  in  some  swifter  destruction. 

The  most  desperate  venture  of  the  travellers  was  amid  the  wrecks  of  an  ex- 
tinct volcano.  It  seemed  here  as  if  the  genius  of  fire  had  striven  to  outdo  the 
grotesque  extravagances  of  the  genii  of  the  waters.  Crags,  towers,  and  pinna- 
cles of  porphyry  were  mingled  with  huge  convoluted  masses  of  light  brown 
trachyte,  of  tufa  either  pure  white  or  white  veined  with  crimson,  of  black  and 
gray  columnar  basalts,  of  red,  orange,  green,  and  black  scoria,  with  adornments 
of  obsidian,  amygdaloids,  rosettes  of  quartz  crystal  and  opalescent  chalcedony. 
A  thousand  stony  needles  lifted  their  ragged  points  as  if  to  defy  the  lightning. 
The  only  vegetation  was  a  spiny  cactus,  clinging  closely  to  the  rocks,  wearing 
their  grayish  and  yellowish  colors,  lending  no  verdure  to  the  scene,  and  harmo- 
nizing with  its  thorny  inhospitality. 

As  the  travellers  gazed  on  this  wilderness  of  scorched  summits,  glittering  in 
the  blazing  sunlight,  and  yet  drawing  from  it  no  life — as  stark,  still,  unsympathiz- 
ing,  and  cruel  as  death — t!iey  seemed  to  themselves  to  be  out  of  the  sweet  world 
of  God,  and  to  be  in  the  power  of  malignant  genii  and  demons.  The  imagina- 
tion cannot  realize  the  feeling  of  depression  which  comes  upon  one  who  finds 
himself  imprisoned  in  such  a  landscape.  Like  uttermost  pain,  or  like  the  ex- 
tremity of  despair,  it  must  be  felt  in  order  to  be  known. 

"  It  seems  as  if  Satan  had  chosen  this  land  for  himself,"  was  the  perfectly 
serious  and  natural  remark  of  Thurstane. 

Clara  shuddered  ;  the  same  impression  was  upon  her  mind  ;  onl}'  she  felt  it 
more  deeply  than  he.  Gentle,  somewhat  timorous,  and  very  impressionable,  she 
was  almost  overwhelmed  by  the  terrific  revelations  of  a  nature  which  seemed 
to  have  no  pity,  or  rather  seemed  full  of  malignity.  Many  times  that  day  she 
had  prayed  in  her  heart  that  God  would  help  them.  Apparently  detached  fiom 
earth,  she  was  seeking  nearness  to  heaven.  Her  look  at  this  moment  was  so 
awe-struck  and  piteous,  that  the  soul  of  the  man  who  loved  her  yearned  to  give 
her  courage. 

'*  Miss  Van  Diemen,  it  shall  all  turn  out  well,"  he  saic',  striking  his  fist  on 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

"Oh  !  why  did  we  come  here  ?  "  she  groaned. 


OVERLAND.  91 

"I  ought  to  have  prevented  it,"  he  replied,  angry  with  Iiimself.  "But  never 
mind.  Don't  be  troubled.  It  shall  all  be  right.  I  pledge  my  life  to  bring  it  all 
to  a  good  end." 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  gratitude  which  would  have  repaid  him  for  immediate 
dealli.  This  is  not  extravagant;  in  his  love  for  her  he  did  not  value  himself; 
lie  had  the  sublime  devotion  of  immense  adoration. 

That  night  another  loamy  nook  was  found,  clothed  with  a  little  thin  grass, 
but  waterless.  Some  of  the  animals  sulTered  so  with  tliirst  that  tliey  could  not 
graze,  and  uttered  doleful  whinneys  of  distress.  As  it  was  the  Lieutenant's  tour 
on  guard,  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  study  the  chances  of  the  morrow. 

"Kelly,  what  do  you  think  of  the  beasts.''"  he  said  to  tiie  old  soldier  who 
acted  as  his  sergeant. 

"One  more  day  will  finish  them,  Leftenant." 

"We  have  been  fifteen  hours  in  the  saddle.  We  have  made  about  thirty- 
five  miles.  There  are  twenty-five  miles  more  to  the  river.  Do  you  think  we 
can  crawl  through  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,  Leftenant,  we  could  just  do  it." 

At  daybreak  tlie  wretched  animals  resumed  their  hideous  struggle.  There 
was  a  plateau  for  them  to  climb  at  the  start,  and  by  the  time  this  labor  was  ac- 
complished they  were  staggering  with  weakness,  so  that  a  halt  had  to  be  ordered 
on  the  windy  brink  of  the  acclivity.  Thurstanc,  according  to  his  custom, 
scanned  the  landscape  with  his  field-glass,  and  jotted  down  topographical  notes 
in  his  journal.  Suddenly  he  beckoned  to  Coronado,  quietly  put  the  glass  in  his 
hands,  nodded  toward  the  desert  which  lay  to  the  rear,  and  whispered,  "Look." 

Coronado  looked,  turned  slightly  more  yellow  than  his  wont,  and  murmured 
"Apaches  ! " 

"  How  far  off  are  they  ?  " 

"About  ten  miles,"  judged  Coronado,  still  gazing  intently. 

"  So  I  should  say.     How  do  you  know  they  are  Apaches  .''" 

"  Who  else  would  follow  us  ?"  asked  the  Mexican,  remembering  the  son  of 
Manga  Colorada. 

"  It  is  another  race  for  life,"  calmly  pronounced  Thurstane,  flicing  about  to- 
ward the  caravan  and  making  a  signal  to  mount. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Yes,  it  was  a  life  and  death  race  between  the  emigrants  and  the  Apaches  for 
the  San  Juan.  Positions  of  defence  were  all  along  the  road,  but  not  one  of  them 
could  be  held  for  a  day,  all  being  destitute  of  grass  and  water. 


62  OVERLAND. 

"There  is  no  need  of  telling  the  ladies  at  once,"  said  Thurstane  to  Corcnado, 
as  they  rode  side  by  side  in  rear  of  the  caravan.  "  Let  them  be  quiet  as  long  as 
they  can  be.     Their  trouble  will  come  soon  enough." 

"  How  many  were  there,  do  you  think?"  was  the  reply  of  a  man  who  was 
much  occupied  with  his  own  chances.     "  Were  there  a  hundred  .''  " 

"  It's  hard  to  estimate  a  mere  black  line  like  that.  Yes,  there  must  be  a  hnn- 
dred.  besides  stragglers.  Their  beasts  have  suffered,  of  course,  as  well  as  ours. 
They  have  come  fast,  and  there  must  be  a  lot  in  the  rear.  Probably  both  bands 
are  along." 

"The  devils  !  "  muttered  Coronado.  "  I  hope  to  God  they  will  all  perish  of 
thirst  and  hunger.  The  stubborn,  stupid  devils  !  Why  should  they  follow  us 
Jiei'e?"'  he  demanded,  looking  furiously  around  upon  the  accursed  landscape. 

"Indian  revenge.     We  killed  too  many  of  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Coronado,  remembering  anew  the  son  of  the  chief.  "Damn 
them  !     I  wish  we  could  have  killed  them  all." 

"Tliat  is  just  what  we  must  try  to  do,"  returned  Thurstane  deliberately. 

"The  question  is,"  he  resumed  after  a  moment  of  business-like  calculation 
of  chances — "the  question  is  mainly  this,  whether  we  can  go  twenly-five  miles 
quicker  than  they  can  go  thirty-five.     We  must  be  the  first  to  reach  the  river." 

r"  We  can  spare  a  few  beasts,"  said  Coronado.  "  We  must  leave  the  weakest 
behind." 

"  We  must  not  give  up  provisions." 

"  We  can  eat  mules." 

"  Not  till  the  last  moment.     We  shall  need  them  to  take  us  back." 

Coronado  inwardly  cursed  himself  for  venturing  into  this  inferno,  the  haunt- 
mg  place  of  devils  in  human  shape.  Then  his  mind  wandered  to  Saratoga,  New 
York,  Newport,  and  the  other  earthly  heavens  that  were  known  to  him.  He 
hummed  an  air;  it  was  the  briiidisi  of  Lucrezia  Borgia;  it  reminded  him  of 
pleasures  which  now  seemed  lost  forever  ;  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  it.  Be- 
tween the  associations  which  it  excited — the  images  of  gayety  and  splendor,  real 
or  feigned — a  commingling  of  kid  gloves,  bouquets,  velvet  cloaks,  and  noble 
names — between  these  glories  which  so  attracted  his  hungry  soul  and  the  pres- 
ent environment  of  hideous  deserts  and  savage  pursuers,  what  a  contrast  there 
was  !  Tliere,  far  away,  was  the  success  for  which  he  longed  ;  here,  close  at 
nand,  was  the  peril  which  must  purchase  it.  At  that  moment  he  was  willing  to 
deny  his  bargain  with  Garcia  and  the  devil.  His  boldest  desire  was,  "Oh  that 
ll  were  in  Santa  Fe  ! " 

I  By  Coronado's  side  rode  a  man  who  had  not  a  thonght  for  himself.  A  per- 
son who  has  not  passed  years  in  the  army  can  hardly  imagine  the  sense  of  r^ 
sponsibility  which  is  ground  into  the  character  of  an  officer.  He  is  a  despot, 
but  a  despot  who  is  constantly  accountable  for  the  welfare  of  his  subjects,  and 


OVERLAND.  03 

who  never  passes  a  day  witliout  mnny  grave  tlioiij^lits  of  the  despots  al)Ove  liim. 
Superior  officers  are  in  a  manner  iiis  deilies,  and  llie  Army  Rej^idalions  liave 
for  him  the  weii;ht  of  Scripture.  He  never  forgets  by  what  solemn  rules  of 
duty  and  honor  he  will  be  juilgetl  if  he  falls  short  of  his  obligations.  This  pro- 
fessional conscience  becomes  a  destiny  to  him,  and  guides  his  life  to  an  extent 
inconceivable  by  most  civilians.  He  acquires  a  habit  of  watching  and  caring  for 
others  ;  he  cannot  help  assuming  a  charge  which  falls  in  his  way.  When  he  i? 
not  governed  by  the  rule  of  obedience,  he  is  governed  by  the  rule  of  rcsponsibil- 
1^  ity.     The  two  make  up  his  duty,  and  to  do  his  duty  is  his  existence. 

At  this  moment  our  young  West  Pointer,  only  twenty-three  or  four  years 
old,  was  gravely  and  grimly  anxious  for  his  four  soldiers,  for  all  these  people 
whom  circumstance  had  placed  under  his  protection,  and  even  for  his  army 
mules,  provisions,  and  ammunition.  His  only  other  sentiment  was  a  passionate 
desire  to  prevent  harm  or  even  fear  from  approaching  Clara  Van  Diemen, 
These  two  sentiments  might  be  said  to  make  up  for  the  present  his  entire  char- 
acter.    As  we  have  already  observed,  he  had  not  a  thought  for  himself. 

Presently  it  occurred  to  the  youngster  that  he  ought  to  cheer  on  his  fellow- 
travellers. 

Trotting  up  with  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Stanley  and  Clara,  he  asked,  "  How  do  you 
bear  it?" 

"Oh,  I  am  almost  dead,"  groaned  Aunt  Maria.  "  I  shall  have  to  be  tied  on 
before  long." 

The  poor  woman,  no  longer  youthful,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  indeed 
badly  jaded.  Her  face  was  haggard  ;  her  general  get-up  was  in  something  like 
scarecrow  disorder;  she  didn't  even  care  how  she  looked.  So  fagged  was  she 
that  she  had  once  or  twice  dozed  in  the  saddle  and  come  near  falling. 

"It  was  outrageous  to  bring  us  here,"  she  went  on  pettishly.  "Ladies 
shouldn't  be  dragged  into  such  hardships." 

Thurstane  wanted  to  say  that  he  was  not  responsible  for  the  journey  ;  but  he 
would  not,  because  it  did  not  seem  manly  to  shift  all  the  blame  upon  Coronado. 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorrj-,"  was  his  reply.     "  It  is  a  frightful  journey." 

"Oh,  frightful,  frightful  !  "  sighed  Aunt  Maria,  twisting  her  aching  back. 

"But  it  will  soon  be  over,"  added  the  officer.  "Only  twenty  miles  more  to 
tlie  river." 

"The  river!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  could  live  if  I  could  see  a  river.  Oh, 
this  desert !  These  perpetual  rocks  !  Not  a  green  thing  to  cool  one's  eyes. 
Not  a  drop  of  water.     I  seem  to  be  drying  up,  like  a  worm  in  the  sunshine." 

"  Is  there  no  water  in  the  flasks  ?  "  asked  Thurstane. 

"Yes,"  said  Clara.     "But  my  aunt  is  feverish  with  fatigue." 

"  What  I  want  is  the  sight  of  it — and  rest,"  almost  whimpered  tlie  elder  lady. 

"Will  our  horses  last?  "  asked  Clara.     "  Mine  seems  to  suffer  a  great  deal." 

"They  must  last,"  replied  Thurstane,  grinding  his  teeth  quite  privately. 
"Oh,  yes,  they  will  last,"  he  immediately  added.  "  Even  if  they  don't,  we  have 
mules  enough." 

"But  how  they  moan  I     It  makes  me  cringe  to  hear  them." 
r^       "Twenty  miles    more,"  said  Thurstane,     "Only  six  hours  at  tlie  longest, 
'    Only  half  a  day." 

"  It  takes  less  than  half  a  day  for  a  woman  to  die,"  muttered  the  nearly  des- 
perate Aunt  Maria. 

"Yes,  when  she  sets  about  it,"  returned  the  officer,     "But  we  haven't  set 
I   about  it,  Mrs.  Stanley.     And  we  are  not  going  to." 


9-t  OVERLAND. 

S  The  weary  lady  liad  no  response  ready  for  words  of  cheer;  she  leaned  heav- 

ily over  the  pommel  of  her  saddle  and  rode  on  in  silence. 

"Ain't  the  same  man  she  was,"  slyly  observed  Phineas  Glover  with  a  twist 
( of  his  queer  physiognomy. 

Thurstane,  though  not  fond  of  Mrs.  Stanley,  would  not  now  laugh  at  her  ex- 
pense, and  took  no  notice  of  the  sarcasm.  Glover,  fearful  lest  he  had  otTended, 
doubled  the  gravity  of  his  expression  and  tacked  over  to  a  fresh  subject. 

"Shouldn't  know  whether  to  feel  proud  'f  myself  or  not,  'f  I'd  made  thi« 
country,  Capm.  Depends  on  what  'twas  meant  for.  If 'twas  meant  to  live  in, 
it's  the  poorest  outfit  I  ever  did  see.  If 'twas  meant  to  scare  folks,  it's  jest  up 
to  the  mark.  'Nuff  to  frighten  a  crow  into  fits.  Cajim,  it  fairly  seems  more 
than  airthly  ;  puts  me  in  mind  'f  things  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress — only  worse. 
Sh'd  say  it  v/as  like  five  thousin'  Valleys  'f  the  Shadow  'f  Death  tangled  to- 
gether. Tell  ye,  believe  Christian  'd  'a'  backed  out  'f  he'd  had  to  travel  through 
here.  Think  Mr.  Coronado 's  all  right  in  his  top  hamper,  Capm?  Do,  hey  ? 
Wal,  then  I'm  all  wrong;  guess  I'm  's  crazy's  a  bedbug.  Wouldn't  'a'ketched 
me  steerin'  this  course  of  my  own  free  will  'n'  foreknowledge.  Jest  look  at  the 
land  now.  Don't  it  look  like  the  bottomless  pit  blowed  up  'n'  gone  to  smash  ? 
Tell  ye,  'f  the  Old  Boy  himself  sh'd  ritle  up  alongside,  shouldn't  be  a  mite 
s'prised  to  see  him.  Sh'd  reckon  he  had  a  much  bigger  right  to  be  s'prised  to 
ketch  me  here." 

After  some  further  riding,  shaking  his  sandy  head,  staring  about  him  and 
whistling,  he  broke  out  again. 

"Tell  ye,  Capm,  this  beats  my  imagination.  Used  to  think  I  c'd  yarn  it 
pooty  consid'able.  But  never  can  tell  this.  Never  can  do  no  manner  'f  jestice 
to  it.  Look  a  there  now.  There's  a  nateral  bridge,  or  'a  unnateial  one. 
There's  a  hole  blowed  through  a  forty  foot  rock  's  clean  's  though  'twas  done 
with  Satan's  own  field-piece,  sech  's  Milton  tells  about.  An'  there's  a  steeple 
higher  'n  our  big  one  in  Fair  Haven.  An'  there's  a  church,  'n'  a  haystack.  If 
the  devil  hain't  done  his  biggest  celebratin'  'n'  carpenterin'  'n'  farmin'  round 
here,  d'no  's  I  know  where  he  has  done  it.  Beats  tiie,  Capm  ;  cleans  me  out. 
Can't  do  no  jostice  to  it.  Can't  talk  about  it.  Seems  to  me  's  though  I  was  a 
fool." 

Yes,  even  Phineas  Glover's  small  and  sinewy  soul  (a  psyche  of  the  sire,  mus- 
cular force,  and  agility  of  a  flea)  had  been  seized,  oppressed,  and  in  a  manner 
smashed  by  the  hideous  sublimity  of  this  wilderness  of  sandstone,  b-isalt,  and 
granite. 

Two  hours  passed,  during  which,  from  the  nature  of  the  ground,  the  travel- 
lers could  neither  see  nor  be  seen  by  their  pursuers.  Then  came  a  breathless 
ascent  up  anotiier  of  the  monstrous  sandstone  terraces.  Thurstane  ordered 
every  man  to  dismount,  so  as  to  spare  the  beasts  as  much  as  possible.  He 
walked  bv  the  side  of  Clara,  patting,  coaxing,  and  cheering  her  sutTering  horse, 
and  occasionally  giving  a  heave  of  his  solid  shoulder  against  the  trembling 
haunches. 

r"  Let  me  walk,"  the  girl  presently  said.  "  I  can't  bear  to  see  the  poor  beast 
BO  worried." 

"  It  would  be  better,  if  you  can  do  it,"  he  replied,  remembering  that  she  might 
soon  have  to  call  upon  the  animal  for  speed. 

She  dismounted,  clasped  her  hands  over  his  arm,  and  clambered  thus.  From 
time  to  time,  when  some  rocky  step  was  to  be  surmounted,  he  lifted  her  bodily 
up  it. 


r, 


OVERLAND.  fl5 

"How  can  you  be  so  strong?"  slie  said,  looking  at  him  wonderingly  and 
giatcfiiUy. 

"  Miss  \'an  Diemcn,  you  give  me  strengtb,"  he  couUl  not  help  responding. 
^  At  last  lliey  were  at  the  summit  of  the  rugged  slope.     The  animals  were 

trembling  and  covered  with  sweat ;  some  of  them  uttered  piteous  whinnyings, 
or  rather  bleatings,  like  distressed  slieep  ;  five  or  six  lay  down  witli  hollow 
moans  and  rumblings.     It  was  ai)solutely  necessary  to  take  a  short  rest. 

Looking  ahead,  Thurstane  saw  that  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the  table- 
land which  lies  south  of  the  San  Juan,  and  that  nothing  was  before  them  for  the 
I  est  of  the  day  but  a  rolling  plateau  seamed  with  meandering  fissures  of  undis- 
coverable  depth.  Traversable  as  the  country  was,  however,  there  was  one  rea- 
son for  extreme  anxiety.  If  they  sliould  lose  the  trail,  if  they  slioiild  get  on  the 
wrong  side  of  one  of  those  profound  and  endless  chasms,  they  migiit  reach  the 
river  at  a  point  where  descent  to  it  would  be  impossible,  and  might  die  of  thirst 
within  sight  of  water.  For  undoubtedly  the  San  Juan  flowed  at  tlie  bottom  of 
one  of  those  amaz.ing  canons  which  gully  this  Mer  de  Glace  in  stone. 

An  error  of  direction  once  committed,  the  enemy  would  not  give  them  time 
to  retrieve  it,  and  they  would  be  slaughtered  like  mad  dogs  with  the  foam  on 
their  mouths. 

Thurstane  remembered  that  it  would  be  Ills  terrible  duty  in  the  last  extremi- 
ty to  send  a  bullet  through  the  heart  of  the  woman  he  worshipped,  rather  than  let 
her  fall  into  the  hands  of  brutes  who  would  only  grant  her  a  death  of  torture  and 
dishonor.  Even  his  steady  soul  failed  for  a  moment,  and  tears  of  desperation 
gathered  in  his  eyes.  For  the  first  time  in  years  he  looked  up  to  heaven  and 
/     prayed  fervently. 

From  tiie  unknown  destiny  ahead  he  turned  to  look  for  the  fate  which  pur- 
sued. Walking  with  Coronado  to  the  brink  of  the  colossal  terrace,  and  shelter- 
ing himself  from  the  view  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  he  scanned  llie  trail  with  his 
glass.  The  dark  line  had  now  become  a  series  of  dark  specks,  more  than  a 
h\indred  and  fifty  in  number,  creeping  along  the  arid  floor  of  the  lower  plateau, 
and  reminding  him  of  venomous  insects. 

"They  are  not  five  miles  from  us,"  shuddered  the  Mexican.  "Cursed 
beasts  !     Devils  of  hell  !  " 

"They  have  this  hill  to  climb,"  said  Thurstane,  "and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
they  will  h.ave  to  halt  here,  as  we  have  done.  Their  ponies  must  be  pretty  well 
Higged  by  this  time." 

"They  will  get  a  last  canter  out  of  them,"  murmured  Coronado.     His  soul 
was  giving  way  under  his  hardships,  and  it  would  have  been  a  solace  to  him  to 
weep  aloud.     As  it  was,  he  relieved  himself  with  a  storm  of  blasphemies.     Oaths 
often  serve  to  a  man  as  tears  do  to  a  woman. 
"  We  must  trot  now,"  he  said  presently. 

"Not  yet.  Not  till  they  are  within  half  a  mile  of  us.  We  must  spare  our 
wind  up  to  the  last  minute." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  cry  of  surprise  and  alarm.  Several  of  the  mule- 
teers had  strayed  to  the  edge  of  the  declivity,  and  had  discovered  with  their  un- 
aided eyesight  the  little  cloud  of  death  in  the  distance.  Texas  Smith  ap- 
proached, looked  from  under  his  shading  hand,  muttered  a  single  curse,  walked 
back  to  his  horse,  inspected  his  girths,  and  recapped  his  rifle.  In  a  minute  it 
was  known  throughout  the  train  that  Apaches  were  in  the  rear.  Without  a  word 
of  direction,  and  in  a  gloomy  silence  which  showed  the  general  despair,  the 
naarch  was  resumed.     There  was  a  disposition  to  force  a  trot,  which  was  oroniDt- 


r 


L 


96  OVERLAND. 

ly  and  sternly  checked  by  Thurstane.  His  voice  was  loud  and  firm  ;  he  had  in- 
stinctively assumed  responsibility  and  command ;  no  one  disputed  him  or 
thought  of  it. 

Three  mules  which  could  not  rise  were  left  where  they  lay,  feebly  struggling  to 
regain  their  feet  and  follow  their  comrades,  but  falling  back  with  hollow  groan- 
ings  and  a  kind  of  human  despair  in  their  faces.  Mile  after  mile  the  retreat  con- 
tinued, always  at  a  walk,  but  witliout  halting.  It  was  long  before  the  Apaches 
were  seen  again,  for  the  ascent  of  the  plateau  lost  them  a  considerable  space, 
and  after  that  they  were  hidden  for  a  time  by  its  undulations.  But  about  four 
in  the  afternoon,  while  the  emigrants  were  still  at  least  five  miles  from  the  river, 
a  group  of  savage  horsemen  rose  on  a  knoll  not  more  than  three  miles  behind, 
and  uttered  a  yell  of  triumph.  There  was  a  brief  panic,  and  another  attempt  to 
push  the  animals,  which  Thurstane  checked  with  levelled  pistol. 

The  train  had  alreadj^  entered  a  gully.  As  this  gully  advanced  it  rapidly 
broadened  and  deepened  into  a  canon.  It  was  the  track  of  an  extinct  river 
which  had  once  flowed  into  the  San  Juan  on  its  way  to  the  distant  Pacific.  Its 
windings  hid  the  desired  goal  ;  the  fugitives  must  plunge  into  it  blindfold  ; 
whatever  f<ite  it  brought  them,  tliey  must  accept  it.  They  were  like  men  who 
should  enter  the  cavern  of  unknown  goblins  to  escape  from  demons  who  were 
following  visibly  on  their  footsteps. 

From  time  to  time  they  heard  ferocious  yells  in  their  rear,  and  beheld  their 
fiendish  pursuers,  now  also  in  the  canon.  It  was  like  Christian  tracking  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  and  listening  to  tlie  screams  and  curses  of  dev- 
ils. At  every  reappearance  of  the  Apaches  they  had  diminished  the  distance  be- 
tween themselves  and  their  expected  prey,  and  at  last  they  were  evidently  not 
more  than  a  mile  behind.  But  there  in  sight  was  the  river;  there,  enclosed  in 
one  of  its  bends,  was  an  alluvial  plain  ;  rising  from  the  extreme  verge  of  the 
plain,  and  overhanging  the  stream,  was  a  bluff;  and  on  this  bluff  was  what  seemed 
to  be  a  fortress. 

Thurstane  sent  all  the  horsemen  to  the  rear  of  the  train,  took  post  himself  as 
the  rearmost  man,  measured  once  more  with  his  eye  the  space  between  his 
charge  and  the  enemy,  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  the  reeling  beast  which  bore 
Clara,  and  in  a  firm  ringing  voice  commanded  a  trot. 

The  order  and  the  movement  which  followed  it  were  answered  by  *he  Indians 
with  a  yell.  The  monstrous  and  precipitous  walls  of  the  canon  ciamored  back 
a  fiendish  mockery  of  echoes  which  seemed  to  call  fpr  the  prowlers  of  the  air  to 
arrive  quickly  and  devour  their  carrion. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

C  The  scene  was  like  one  of  Dora's  most  extravagant  designs  of  abysses  and 
shadows.  The  gorge  through  which  swept  this  silent  flight  and  screaming  chase 
was  not  more  than  two  hundred  feet  wide,  while  it  was  at  least  fifteen  hundred 

(_feet  deep,  with  walls  that  were  mainly  sheer  precipices. 

As  the  fugitives  broke  into  a  trot,  the  pursuers  quickened  their  pace  to  a  slow 
canter.  No  faster  ;  they  were  too  wise  to  rush  within  range  of  riflemen  who 
could  neither  be  headed  off  nor  flanked  ;  and  their  hardy  mustangs  were  nearly 
at  the  last  gasp  with  thirst  and  with  the  fatigue  of  this  tremendous  journey. 
Four  hundred  yards  apart  the  two  parties  emerged  from  the  sublime  portal  of 
the  canon  and  entered  upon  the  little  alluvial  plain. 


OVERLAND.  9^ 

To  the  left  glittered  the  river;  but  the  (rail  did  not  turn  in  that  direction  •  it 
led  straight  at  the  blulT  in  the  elbow  of  the  current.  The  mules  and  horses  fol- 
lowed It  in  a  pack,  -uuled  by  their  acute  scent  toward  the  nearest  water  a  still 
invisible  brooklet  wide!,  ran  at  the  base  of  the  buttc.  i'resently,  while  yet  a,' 
mde  from  the  stream,  they  were  seiied  by  a  mania.  With  a  loud  beastly  cry 
theybtoke  simultaneously  into  a  run,  nostrils  distended  and  quiveiin-  eyes 
bloodshot  and  protrudin-  heads  thrust  forward  wiUi  fierce  eagerness  uni^overn- 
ably  mad  after  water.  There  was  no  checking  the  frantic  stampede  whidi  from 
tins  moment  thundered  with  constantly  increasing  speed  across  the  plain  No 
Older;  the  stronger  jostled  the  weaker;  loads  were  flung  to  the  ground  and 
scattered ;  the  riders  could  scanx-ly  keep  their  seats.  Spun  out  over  a  line  of 
twenty  rods,  the  cavalcade  was  the  imag-e  of  senseless  rout. 

Of  course  'i-luirstane  was  furious  at  this  seemingly  Hilal  dispersion  ;  and  he 
trumpeted  forth  angry  shouts  of  "Steady  there  in  front  I   Close  up  in  the  rear  '  " 
But  before  long  he  o«essed  the  truth-water  !     "  They  will  rally  at  the  drink 
ing  place,"  he  thought.     "  Forward  the  mules  !  "  he  yelled.     "  Steady,  you  mej 
here  !     Hold  ,n  your  horses.     Keep  in  rear  of  the  women.     Ill  shout'the  mai 
who  takes  the  lead." 

But  even  Spanish  bits  could  do  no  more  than  detain  the  horses  a  rod  or  two 
behmd  the  beasts  of  burden,  and  the  whole  panting,  snorting  mob  continued  to 
rush  over  the  loamy  level  with  astonishing  swiftness. 

Meanwhile  the  leading  Apaches,  not  now  more  than  fifty  in  number  wer« 
swept  along  by  t.ie  same  whirlwind  of  brute  instinct.  They  diverged  a  little 
fronithetr.ul;  their  object  apparently  was  to  overlap  the  train  and  either  head 
n  otfor  divKle  .t ;  but  their  beasts  were  too  frantic  to  be  governed  full  v.  Before 
long  there  w-ere  two  lines  of  straggling  flight,  running  parallel  with  each  other  at 
a  distance  of  perhaps  one  hundred  yards,  and  both  storming  toward  the  still  un- 
seen nvulet.  A  few  arrows  were  thrown  ;  four  or  five  unavailing  shots  were 
fired  m  return  ;  the  hiss  of  shaft  and  pi„^^  of  ball  crossed  eiich  other  in  air  •  but 
no  senous  and  effective  fight  commenced  or  could  commence.  Both  parties 
guided  and  mastered  by  their  lolling  beasts,  almost  without  conflict  and  almost 
without  looking  at  each  other,  converged  helplessly  toward  a  verdant,  shallow 
depression,  through  the  centre  of  which  loitered  a  clear  streamlet  scarcely  less 
cam  than  the  heaven  above.  Next  they  were  all  together,  panting,  plun^in-. 
splashing  drinking,  mules  and  horses,  wnite  men  and  red  men,  all  will,  no  l,C 
thought  than  to  quench  their  thirst. 

The  Apachos,  who  h.id  probably  made  their  cruel  journey  without  fiasks 
seemed  for  the  moment  insatiable  and  utterly  reckless.  Many  of  them  rolled 
off  their  tottering  pomes  into  the  rivulet,  and  plunging  down  their  heads  drank 
nee  bea.sts.  There  were  a  few  minutes  of  the  strangest  peace  that  ever  was 
s  en  It  was  ,n  vain  that  two  or  three  of  the  hardier  or  fiercer  chiefs" and  braves 
shouted  and  gestured  to  their  comrades,  as  if  urging  them  to  commence  the  at- 
tack. Manga  Colorada,  absorbed  by  a  thirst  which  was  more  burning  than  re- 
venge d,d  not  at  first  see  the  slayer  of  his  boy,  .nd  when  he  did  coukfnot  move 
toward  him  because  of  fevered  mustangs,  who  would  not  budge  from  their  drink- 
.ng,  or  who  were  staggering  blind  with  hunger.  Thurstane,  keeping  his  horse 
beside  Claras,  watched  the  lean  figure  and  restless,  irritable  face  of  Deh^adito 

JO)  that  he  might  have  thrust  her  through  with  his  lance  had  he  not  bee.    olely 
intent  upon  water.  ■' 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  emigrants  that  they  had  reached  the  stream  a  fe« 


98  OVERLAND. 

seconds  the  soonei.  Their  thirst  was  first  satiated;  and  then  men  and  animals 
began  to  draw  away  from  their  enemies  ;  for  even  the  mules  of  white  men  in- 
stinctively dread  and  detest  the  red  warriors.  This  movement  was  accelerated 
by  Thurstane,  Coronado,  Texas  Smith,  and  Sero;eant  Meyer  calling  to  one  and 
another  in  English  and  Spanish,  "  This  way  !  this  way  !  "  There  seemed  to  be 
a  chance  of  massing  the  party  and  getting  it  to  some  distance  before  the  Indians 
could  turn  their  thoughts  to  blood. 

But  the  manjeuvre  was  only  in  part  accomplished  Avhen  battle  commenced. 
Little  Sweeny,  finding  that  his  mule  was  being  crowded  by  an  Apache's  horse, 
uttered  some  indignant  yelps.  "  Och,  ye  bloody  naygur  !  Gel  away  wid  yer- 
self.     Get  over  there  where  ye  b'long." 

This  request  not  being  heeded,  he  made  a  clumsy  punch  with  his  bayonet 
and  brought  the  blood.  The  warrior  uttered  a  grunt  of  pain,  cast  a  surprised 
angry  stare  at  the  shaveling;  of  a  Paddy,  and  thrust  with  his  lance.  But  he  was 
probably  weak  and  faint ;  the  weapon  merely  tore  the  uniform.  Sweeny  instant- 
ly fired,  and  brought  down  another  Apache,  quite  accidentally.  Then,  banging 
his  mule  with  his  heels,  he  splashed  up  to  Tlnirstane  with  tiie  explanation, 
■"Liftinant,  they're  the  same  bloody  naygurs.  Wan  av  um  made  a  poke  at  me, 
Xiftinant." 

"  Load  your  beece  !  "  ordered  Sergeant  Meyer  sternly,  "  und  face  the  enemy." 

By  this  time  there  was  a  fierce  confusion  of  plungings  and  outcries.  Then 
came  a  hiss  of  arrows,  followed  instantaneously  by  the  scream  of  a  wounded 
man,  the  report  of  several  muskets,  a  pinging  of  balls,  more  yells  of  wounded, 
and  the  splash  of  an  Apache  in  the  water.  The  little  streamlet,  lately  all  crys- 
tal and  sunshine,  was  now  turbid  and  bloody.  The  giant  portals  of  the  canon, 
although  more  than  a  mile  distant,  sent  back  echoes  of  the  musketry.  Another 
battle  rendered  more  horrible  the  stark,  eternal  horror  of  the  desert. 

"This  way!"  Thurstane  continued  to  shout.  "  Forward,  you  women;  up 
the  hill  with  you.  Steady,  men.  Face  the  enemy.  Don't  throw  away  a  shot. 
Steady  with  the  firing.     Steady  !  " 

The  hostile  parties  were  already  thirty  or  forty  yards  apart  ;  and  the  emi- 
grants, drawing  loosely  up  the  slope,  were  increasing  the  distance.  Manga  Col- 
orada  spurred  to  the  front  of  his  people,  shaking  his  lance  and  yelling  for  a 
charge.  Only  half  a  dozen  followed  him  ;  his  horse  fell  almost  immediately  un- 
der a  rifle  ball  ;  one  of  the  braves  picked  up  the  chief  and  bore  him  away  ;  the 
rest  dispersed,  prancing  and  curveting.  The  opportunity  for  mingling  with  the 
emigrants  and  destroying  them  in  a  series  of  single  combats  was  lost. 

Evidently  the  Apaches,  and  their  mustangs  still  more,  were  unfit  for  fight. 
The  forty-eight  hours  of  hunger  and  thirst,  and  the  prodigious  burst  of  one  hun- 
.dred  and  twenty  miles- up  and  down  rugged  terraces,  had  nearly  exhausted  their 
spirits  as  well  as  their  strength,  and  left  them  incapable  of  the  furious  activity 
necessary  in  a  cavaby  battle.  The  most  remarkable  proof  of  their  physical  and 
moral  debilitation  was  that  in  all  this  melde  not  more  than  a  dozen  of  them  had 
•discharged  an  arrow. 

If  they  would  not  attack  they  must  retreat,  and  that  speedily.  At  fifty  yards' 
range,  armed  only  with  bows  and  spears,  tkey  were  at  the  mercy  of  riflemen  and 
could  stand  only  to  be  slaughtered.  There  was  a  hasty  flight,  scurrying  zigzag, 
right  and  left,  rearing  and  plunging,  spurring  the  last  caper  out  of  their  mus- 
tangs, the  whole  troop  spreading  widely,  a  hundred  marks  and  no  good  one. 
Nevertheless  Texas  Smith's  miraculous  aim  brought  down  first  a  warrior  and 
then  a  horse 


r 


OVKRLAND.  OD 

By  Ihe  time  the  Apaches  were  out  of  range  the  emigrAnls  were  well  up  the 
slope  of  the  hill  which  occupied  the  extreme  elbow  of  the  bend  in  the  river.  It 
was  a  bluff  or  butte  of  limestone  which  innumerable  years  had  converted  into 
marl,  and  for  the  most  part  into  earth.  A  thin  turf  covered  it  ;  here  and  there 
were  thickets  ;  more  rarely  trees.  Presently  some  one  remarked  that  the  sides 
were  terraced.  It  was  true  ;  there  were  the  narrow  flats  of  soil  which  had  once 
been  gardens  ;  there  too  were  the  supporting  walls,  more  or  less  ruinous.  Cu- 
rious eyes  now  turned  toward  the  seeming  mound  on  the  summit,  qucrymg 
whether  it  might  not  be  the  remains  of  an  antique  pueblo. 

.At  this  instant  Clara  uttered  a  cry  of  anxiety,  "Where  is  Pepita?' 

The  girl  was  gone;  a  hasty  looking  about  showed  that;  but  whither? 
Alas  !  the  only  solution  to  this  enigma  must  be  the  horrible  word,  "  Ai)aches.' 
It  seemed  the  strangest  thing  conceivable  ;  one  moment  with  the  party,  and  the 
next  vanished  ;  one  moment  safe,  and  the  next  dead  or  doomed.  Of  course  the 
kidnapping  must  have  been  accomplished  during  the  frenzied  riot  in  the  stream, 
when  the  two  bands  were  disentangling  amid  an  uproar  of  plungings,  yells,  and 
musket  shots.  The  girl  had  pr()l)ably  been  stunned  by  a  blow,  and  then  either 
left  to  float  down  the  brook  or  dragged  off  by  some  muscular  warrior. 

There  was  a  halt,  an  eager  and  prolonged  lookout  over  the  plain,  a  scanning 
of  the  now  distant   Indians  through  field  glasses.     Then  slowly  and  sadly  the 
L     train  resumed  its  march  and  mounted  to  the  summit  of  the  butte. 

Here,  in  this  land  of  marvels,  there  was  a  new  marvel.  Incredible  as  the 
thing  seemed,  so  incredible  that  they  had  not  at  first  believed  their  eyes,  they 
were  at  the  base  of  the  walls  of  a  fortress.  A  cot-.fused,  general  murmur  broke 
forth  of  "  Ruins  !   Pueblos  !  Casas  Grandes  !  Casas  de  Montezuma  !  " 

The  architecture,  unlike  that  of  Tegua,  but  similar  to  that  of  the  ruins  of  the 
Gila,  was  of  adobes.  Large  cakes  of  mud,  four  or  five  feet  long  and  two  feet 
thick,  had  been  moulded  in  ca.ses,  dried  in  the  sun,  and  laid  in  regular  courses 
to  the  height  of  twenty  feet.  Centuries  (perhaps)  of  exposure  to  weather  had  so 
cracked,  guttered,  and  gnaw^ed  this  destructible  material,  that  at  a  distance  the 
pile  looked  not  unlke  the  natural  monuments  which  fi*re  and  water  have  builded 
in  this  enchanted  land,  and  had  therefore  not  been  recognized  by  the  travellers 
as  human  handiwork. 

What  they  now  saw  was  a  rampart  which  ran  along  the  brow  of  the  bluff  for 
several  hundred  yards.  Originally  twenty  feet  high,  it  had  been  so  fissured  by 
the  rains  and  crumbled  by  the  winds,  that  it  resembled  a  series  of  peaks  united 
hore  and  tliere  in  a  plane  surface.  Some  of  the  gaps  reached  nearly  to  the 
ground,  and  through  these  it  could  be  seen  that  the  wall  was  five  feet  across,  a 
single  adobe  forming  the  entire  thickness.  All  along  the  base  the  dampness  of 
the  earth  had  eaten  away  the  clay,  so  that  in  many  places  the  structure  was  tot- 
\tering  to  its  fall. 

Filing  to  the  left  a  few  yards,  the  emigrants  found  a  deep  fissure  through 
which  the  animals  stumbled  one  by  one  over  mounds  of  crumbled  adobes. 
Thurstane,  entering  last,  looked  around  him  in  wonder.  He  was  inside  a  quad- 
rilateral enclosure,  apparently  four  hundred  yards  in  length  by  two  hundred  and 
fifty  in  breadth,  the  walls  throughout  being  the  same  mass  of  adobe  work,  fis- 
sured, jagged,  gray,  solemn,  and  in  their  utter  solitariness  su'ilime. 

But  this  was  not  the  whole  ruin  ;  the  fortress  had  a  citadel.  In  one  corner 
of  the  enclosure  stood  a  tower-like  structure,  forty-five  or  fifty  feet  square  and 
thirty  in  altitude,  surmounted  on  its  outer  angle  by  a  smaller  tower,  also  four- 
sided,  which  rose  some  twelve  or  fourteen  feet  higher.     It  was  not  isolated,  but 


n 


r 


^ 


100  OVERLAND. 

built  into  an  angle  of  tlie  outer  rampart,  so  as  to  form  with  it  one  solid  mass  of 
fortification.  The  material  was  adobe  ;  but,  unlike  the  other  ruins,  it  was  ia 
good  condition  ;  some  species  of  roofing  had  preserved  the  walls  from  guttering; 
not  a  crevice  deformed  their  gray,  blank,  dreary  fiices. 

Instinctively  and  without  need  of  command  the  emigrants  had  pushed  on 
toward  this  edifice.  It  was  to  be  their  fortress  ;  in  it  and  around  it  they  must 
fight  for  life  against  the  Apaches;  here,  where  a  nameless  people  had  perished, 
they  must  conquer  or  perish  also.  Thurstane  posted  Kelly  and  one  of  the  Mex- 
icans on  the  exterior  wall  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  savage  horde  in  the 
plain  below.     Then  he  follov.^ed  the  others  to  the  deserted  citadel. 

Two  doorways,  one  on  each  of  the  faces  v/hicli  looked  into  the  enclosure,  of- 
fered ingress.  They  were  similar  in  size  and  shape,  seven  feet  and  a  half  in 
height  by  four  in  breadth,  and  tapering  toward  the  summit  like  the  portals  of 
the  temple-builders  of  Central  America.  Inside  were  solid  mud  floors,  strewn 
with  gray  dust  and  showing  here  and  there  a  gleam  of  broken  pottery,  the  whole 
brooded  over  by  obscurity.  It  was  discoverable,  liowever,  that  the  room  within 
was  of  considerable  height  and  size. 

There  was  a  hesitation  about  entering.  It  seemed  as  if  the  ghosts  of  the 
nameless  people  forbade  it.  This  had  been  the  abode  of  men  who  perhaps  in- 
habited America  before  the  coming  of  Columbus.  Here  possibly  the  ancest(  'f 
of  Montezuma  had  stayed  their  migrations  from  the  mounds  of  the  Ohio  to  tii« 
pyramids  of  Cholula  and  Tenoclrdtlan.  Or  here  had  lived  the  Moquis,  or  thi 
Zunians,  or  the  Lagunas,  before  they  sought  refuge  from  the  red  tribes  of  tin- 
north  upon  the  buttes  south  of  the  Sierra  del  Carrizo.  Here  at  all  events  had 
once  palpitated  a  civilization  v.'hich  was  now  a  ghost. 

"  This  is  to  be  our  home  for  a  little  while,"  said  Thurstane  to  Clara.  "  Will 
you  dismount  ?  I  will  run  in  and  turn  out  the  snakes,  if  there  are  any.  Sergeant, 
keep  your  men  and  a  few  others  ready  to  repel  an  attack.  Now,  fellows,  off  with 
the  packs." 

Producing  a  couple  of  wax  tapers,  he  lighted  them,  handed  one  to  Coronado, 
and  led  the  way  into  the  silent  Casa  de  Montezuma.  They  were  in  a  hall  a!)0ut 
ten  feet  high,  fifteen  feet  broad,  and  forly  feet  long,  which  evidentlv  ran  across 
the  v.'hole  front  of  tlie  building.  The  walls  were  hard-finished  and  adorned  witli 
etchings  in  vermilion  of  aniin^U,  geometrical  figures,  and  nondescript  grotesques, 
all  of  the  rudest  design  and  disposed  without  regard  to  order.  A  doorway  led 
into  a  small  central  room,  and  from  that  doorways  opened  into  three  more  rooms, 
one  on  each  side. 

The  ceilings  of  all  the  rooms  v.'ere  supported  by  unhewn  beams,  five  or  six 
inches  thick,  deeply  inserted  into  the  adobe  walls.  In  the  ceiling  of  the  rear- 
most hall  (the  one  which  had  no  direct  outlet  upon  the  enclosure)  was  a  trap- 
door which  oflTered  the  only  access  to  the  stories  above.  A  rude  but  solid  ladder, 
consisting  of  two  beams  with  steps  chopped  into  them,  was  still  standing  here. 
With  a  vague  sense  of  intrusion,  half  expecting  that  the  old  inhabitants  would 
appear  and  order  them  away,  Thurstane  and  Coronado  ascended.  The  second 
story  resembled  the  first,  and  above  was  another  of  the  same  pattern.  Then 
came  a  nearly  flat  roof;  and  here  they  found  something  remarkable.  It  was  a 
solid  sheathing  or  tiling,  made  of  slates  of  baked  and  glazed  pottery,  laid  with 
}:;reat  exactness,  admirably  cemented  and  projecting  well  over  the  eaves.  This 
it  Vi'as  which  had  enabled  the  adobes  beneath  to  endure  for  years,  and  perhaps 
for  centuries,  in  spite  of  the  lapping  of  rains  and  the  gnawing  of  winds. 

On  the  outermost  corner  of  the  structure,  overlooking  the  eddying,  foaming 


UVKRLAND.  101 

bend  of  the  S.\ii  Juan,  rose  llie  isuhited  tower.  It  contained  a  sinj;le  room, 
walled  with  h.ird-linish  and  profusely  etched  witii  fij^ures  in  vermilion.  No 
furniture  anywhere,  nor  utensils,  nor  relics,  excepting  Liits  of  pottery,  precisely 
such  as  is  made  now  by  tlie  Maquis,  various  in  color,  red,  wliite,  grayish,  ami 
bl.ick,  much  of  it  painted  inside  as  well  as  out,  and  all  adorned  with  diamond 
patterns  and  other  geometrical  outlines. 

"  I  hive  seen  C.is  is  Grandes  in  other  places,"  said  Coronado,  "  but  noth 
ing  like  tliis.     Ti»is  is  the  only  one  that  I  ever  found  entire.     The  others  are  in 
ruins,  the  roofs  fallen  in,  the  beams  duirred,  etc." 

"  This  was  not  taken,"  decided  the  Lieutenant,  after  a  tactical  meditation. 
"This  must  have  been  abandoned  by  its  inhabitants.  Pestilence,  or  starvation, 
or  migration." 

"  We  can  beat  off  all  the  Apaches  in  New  Mexico,"  observed  Coronado,  with 
something  like  cheerfulness. 

"  We  can  wliip  everything  but  our  own  stomachs,"  replied  Thurstane. 

"  We  have  as  much  food  as  those  devils." 

*'  But  water  .''"  suggested  the  forethoughted  VVcst  Pointer. 

It  was  a  horrible  doubt,  for  if  tliere  was  no  water  in  the  enclosure,  they  were 
doomed  to  speedy  and  cruel  deatii,  unless  they  could  beat  the  Indians  in  the 
field  ami  drive  them  away  from  the  rivulet. 


r 


CHAPTER  XX. 

When'  Thurstane  came  out  of  the  Casa  Grande  he  would  have  given  some 
years  of  his  life  to  knov/  tliat  there  was  water  in  the  enclosure. 

Yet  so  well  disciplined  was  the  soul  of  this  veteran  of  twenty-three,  and  so 
thoroughly  had  he  acquired  the  wise  soldierly  habit  of  wearing  a  mask  of  cheer 
over  trouble,  that  he  met  Clara  and  Mrs.  Stanley  with  a  smile  and  a  bit  of  small 
talk. 

"Ladies,  can  you  keep  house?"  he  said.  "There  are  sixteen  rooms  ready 
for  you.  The  people  who  moved  out  haven't  left  any  trumpery.  Nothing 
wanted  but  a  little  sweeping  and  dusting  and  a  stair  carpet." 

"  We  will  keep  house,"  replied  Ciara  with  a  laugh,  the  girlish  gayety  of  which 
delighted  him. 

Assuming  a  woman's  rightful  empire  over  household  matters,  she  began  to 
Jirect  concerning  storage,  lodgment,  cooking,  etc.  Sharp  as  the  climbing  was, 
she  went  tlirough  all  the  stories  and  inspected  every  room,  selecting  the  cham- 
oer  in  the  tower  for  herself  and  Mrs.  Stanley. 

"  I  never  can  get  up  in  this  world,"  declared  Aunt  Maria,  staring  in  dismay 
at  the  rude  ladiler.  ''So  this  is  what  Mr.  Tiuirstane  meant  by  talking  about  a 
stair  carpet  !  It  was  just  like  him  to  joke  on  such  a  matter.  I  tell  you  I  never 
can  go  up." 

"  Av  coorse  ye  can  get  up,"  broke  in  little  Sweeny  impatiently.  "All  ye've 
got  to  do  is  to  put  wan  fut  above  another  an'  howld  on  wid  yer  ten  fingers." 

'•  I  should  like  to  see  you  do  it,"  returned  Aunt  Maria,  looking  indignantly 
at  the  interfering  Paddy. 

Sweeny  immediately  shinned  up  the  stepped  beam,  uttered  a  neigh  of  trium. 
phant  laughter  from  the  top,  and  then  skylarked  down  again. 

"  Well,j<?/<  are  a  man,"  observed  the  strong-minded  lady,  somewhat  discona* 
fited. 


102  OVERLAND. 

"Av  coorse  I'm  a  man,"  yelped  Sweeny.  "  Who  said  I  wasn't?  He's  a  ly- 
ing informer.     Ha  ha,  hoo  hoo,  lio  ho  !  " 

Thus  incited,  pulled  at  moreover  from  above  and  boosted  from  below.  Aunt 
Maria  mounted  ladder   after   ladder   until  she  stood  on  the  roof  of  the  Casa 
I Grande. 

"  If  I  ever  go  down  again,  I  shall  have  to  drop,"  she  gasped.  "  I  never  ex- 
pected when  I  came  on  this  journey  to  be  a  sailor  and  climb  maintops." 

"Lieutenant  Thurstane  is  waving  bis  band  to  us,"  said  Clara,  with  a  smile 
like  .Minlight. 

'•Let  him  wave,"  returned  Mrs.  Stanley,  weary,  disconsolate,  and  out  of  pa- 
tience with  everything.     "  I  must  say  it's  a  poor  place  to  be  waving  hands." 

Meantime  Thurstane  had  beckoned  a  couple  of  muleteers  tc  fuUow  him,  and 
set  oft  to  beat  the  enclosure  for  a  spring,  or  for  a  spot  where  it  would  be  possi- 
ble to  sink  a  well  with  good  result.  Although  the  search  seemed  absurd  on  sucb 
an  isolated  hill,  he  had  some  hopes  ;  for  in  the  first  place,  the  old  inhabitants 
must  have  had  a  large  supply  of  water,  and  they  could  not  have  brought  it  up  a 
steep  slope  of  two  hundred  feet  without  great  difficulty  ;  in  the  second  place,  the 
butte  was  of  limestone,  and  in  a  limestone  region  water  makes  for  itself  strange 
reservoirs  and  outlets. 

His  trust  was  well-grounded.  In  a  sharply  indented  hollow,  twenty  feet  be- 
low the  general  surface  of  the  enclosure,  and  not  more  than  thirty  yards  from 
the  Casa  Grande,  he  found  a  copious  spring.  About  it  were  traces  of  stone 
work,  forming  a  sort  of  ruinous  semicircle,  as  though  a  well  had  been  dun.  the 
neighboring  earth  scooped  out,  and  the  sides  of  the  opening  fenced  up  with  ma- 
sonry. By  the  way,  he  was  not  the  first  to  discover  the  treasure,  far  the  acute 
senses  of  the  mules  had  been  beforehand  with  him,  and  a  number  of  them  were 
already  there  drinking. 

Calling  Mever,  he  said,  "Sergeant,  get  a  fatigue  party  to  work  here.  I  want 
a  transverse  trench  cut  below  the  spring  for  the  animals,  and  a  guard  at  the 
spring  itself  to  keep  it  clear  for  the  people." 

Next  he  hurried  away  to  ti>e  spot  where  he  had  posted  Kelly  to  watch  the 
Apaches. 

Climbing  the  wall,  he  looked  about  for  the  Apaches,  and  discovered  then> 
about  half  a  mile  distant,  bivouacked  on  the  bank  of  the  rivulet. 

"  They  have  been  reinforced,  sir,"  said   Kelly.     "Stragglers  are  coming  up 
everv  few  minutes." 
P       "  So  I  perceive.     Have  you  seen  anything  of  the  girl  Pepi  ta  ?  " 

"There's  a  figure  there,  sir,  against  that  .sapling,  that  hasn't  moved  for  half 
an  hour.     I've  an  idea  it's  the  girl,  sir,  tied  to  the  sapling." 

Thurstane  adjusted  his  glass,  took  a  long  steady  look,  and  said  sombrely, 
"  It's  the  gi.-^l.     Keep  an  eye  on  her.     If  they  start  to  do  anything  with  her,  lei 

[ me  know.     Signal  with  your  cap." 

f'  As  he  hurried  back  to  the  Casa  Grande  he  tried  to  devise  some  method  of 
saving  this  unfortunate.  A  rescue  was  impossible,  for  the  savages  were  numer- 
ous, watchful,  and  merciless,  and  in  case  they  were  likely  to  lose  her  they  would 
brain  her.  But  she  might  be  ransomed  :  blankets,  clothing,  and  perhaps  a 
beast  or  two  could  be  spared  for  that  purpose  ;  the  gold  pieces  that  he  had  in 
his  waist-belt  should  all  go  of  course.  The  great  fear  was  lest  the  brutes  should 
find  all  bribes  poor  compared  with  the  joys  of  a  tortia-e  dance.  Querying  how 
he  could  hide  this  horrible  affiiir  from  Clara,  and  shuddering  at  the  thought  that 
but  for  favoring  chances  she  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  Pepita,  he  ran  on 
toward  the  Casa,  waving  his  hand  cheer.''ully  to  the  two  women  on  the  roof 


OVERLAND.  103 

Meantime  Cl.ira  had  been  attending  to  lier  housekeeping  and  Mrs.  Stanley 
ftad  been  attending  to  lier  feelings.  The  elder  lady  (we  dare  not  yet  call  her  an 
old  lady)  was  in  the  lowest  spirits.  She  tried  to  brace  herself;  she  crossed  her 
hands  beliind  her  back,  man-tashion  ;  she  marched  up  and  down  the  roof  man- 
fashion.  All  useless  ;  the  transformation  didn't  work  ;  or,  if  she  was  a  man, 
j     she  was  a  scared  one. 

She  could  not  help  feeling  like  one  of  the  spirits  in  prison  as  slie  glanced  at 
the  awful  solitude  around  her.  Notwithstanding  the  river,  there  still  was  the 
desert.  The  little  plain  was  but  an  oasis.  Two  miles  to  the  east  the  San  Tuan 
burst  out  of  a  defile  of  sandstone,  and  a  mile  to  the  west  it  disappeared  in  a 
similar  chasm.  The  walls  of  these  gorges  rose  abruptly  two  thousand  feet 
Hi)Ove  the  hurrving  waters.  All  around  were  the  monstrous,  arid,  herbless,  sav- 
age, cruel  ramparts  of  the  plateau.  No  outlook  anywhere;  the  longest  reach 
of  the  eye  was  not  five  miles  ;  then  came  towering  precipices.  The  travellers 
were  like  ants  gathered  on  an  inch  of  earth  at  the  bottom  of  a  fissure  in  a  quarry. 
The  horizon  was  elevated  and  limited,  resting  everynliere  on  harsh  lines  ol 
rock  which  were  at  once  near  the  spectator  and  far  alx)ve  him.  The  overhang- 
iu'--  plateaux  strove  to  shut  him  out  from  the  sight  of  heaven. 

What  variety  there  was  in  tlie  grim  monotony  appeared  in  shapes  thit 
were  horrible  to  the  weary  and  sorrowful.  On  tb.e  other  side  of  the  San  Juan 
towered  an  assemblage  of  pinnacles  whicii  looked  like  statues  ;  but  these  statues 
were  a  thousand  feet  above  the  stream,  and  the  smallest  of  them  was  at  least 
four  hundred  feet  high.  To  a  lost  wanderer,  and  especially  to  a  dispirited 
woman,  sucli  magnitude  was  not  sublime,  but  terrifying.  It  seemed  as  if  these 
shapes  were  gods  who  had  no  mercy,  or  demons  who  were  full  of  malevolence. 
Still  higher,  on  a  jutting  crag  wliich  overliung  the  black  river,  was  a  castle  a 
hundred  fold  huger  than  man  ever  built,  with  ramparts  that  were  dizzy  precipices 
and  towers  such  as  no  daring  could  scale.  It  faced  the  horrible  group  of  stony 
deities  as  if  it  were  their  pandemonium. 

The  whole  landscape  was  a  hideous  Walhalla,  a  fit  abode  for  the  savage 
giant  gods  of  the  old  Scandinavians.  Thor  and  Woden  would  have  been  at 
home  in  it.  The  Cyclops  and  Titans  would  have  been  too  little  for  it.  The 
Olympian  deities  could  not  be  conceived  of  as  able  or  willing  to  exist  in  such  a 
hideous  chaos.  No  creature  of  the  Greek  imagination  would  have  been  a  suita- 
ble inhabitant  for  it  except  Prometheus  alone.  Here  his  eternal  agony  and 
boundless  despair  might  not  have  been  out  of  place. 

There  was  no  comfort  in  the  river.  It  came  out  of  unknown  and  inliospitable 
mystery,  and  went  into  a  mystery  equally  unknown  and  inhospitable.  To  what 
fate  it  might  lead  was  as  uncertain  as  whence  it  arrived.  A  sombre  flood,  red- 
dish brown  in  certain  lights,  studded  with  rocks  vviiich  raised  ghosts  of  unmov- 
ing  foam,  flowing  with  a  speed  which  perpetually  boiled  and  eddied,  promising 
nothing  to  the  voyager  but  thousand-fold  shipwreck,  a  breathless  messenger 
from  the  mountains  to  the  ocean,  it  wheeled  incessantly  from  stony  portal  to 
stony  portal,  a  brief  gleam  of  power  and  crueU3'.  The  impression  which  it  pro- 
duced was  in  unison  with  tlie  sublime  malignity  and  honor  of  the  landscape. 

Depressed  by  fatigue,  the  desperate  situation  of  ilie  party,  and  the  menace  of 
the  frightful  scene  around  her,  Mrs.  Stanley  could  not  and  would  not  speak  to 
Thurstane  when  lie  mounted  the  roof,  and  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  You  see  I  am  housekeeping,"  said  Clara  with  a  smile.  "  Look  how  clean 
the  room  in  tiie  lower  has  been  swept.     1  had  some  brooms  made  of  tufied  grass. 


104  OVERLAND. 

There  are  our  beds  in  the  corners.     These  hard-finished  walls  are  really  hand* 
&ome." 

She  stopped,  hesitated  a  moment,  looked  at  him  anxiously,  and  then  added, 
"  Have  you  seen  Pepita  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  deciding  to  be  frank.  "I  think  I  have  discovered  her 
tied  to  a  tree." 

"  Oh  !  to  be  tortured  ! "  exclaimed  Clara,  wringing  her  hands  and  beginning 
to  cry. 

"  We  will  ransom  her,"  he  hurried  on.  "  I  am  going  down  to  hold  a  par 
ley  with  the  Apaches." 

"  Vou  '^^  exclaimed  the  girl,  catcliing  his  arm.  "  Oh  no  !  Oh,  why  did  we 
come  here  !  " 

Fearing  lest  he  should  be  persuaded  to  evade  what  he  considered  his  duty, 
he  pressed  her  hand  fervently  and  hurried  away.  Yes,  he  repeated,  it  was  his 
duty  ;  to  parley  with  the  Apaches  was  a  most  dangerous  enterprise;  he  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  order  any  other  to  undertake  it. 

Finding  Coronado,  he  said  to  him,  "I  am  going  down  to  ransom  Pepita. 
You  know  the  Indians  better  than  I  do.     How  many  people  shall  4  take  ?" 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  shot  across  the  dark  face  of  the  Mexican  as  he  re- 
plied, "  Go  alone." 

"  Certainly,"  he  insisted,  in  response  to  the  officer's  stare  of  surprise.  "  If 
you  take  a  party,  they'll  doubt  you.  If  you  go  alone,  they'll  parley.  But,  my 
dear  Lieutenant,  you  an-e  magnificent.  This  is  the  finest  moment  of  your  life. 
Ah  !  only  you  Americans  are  capable  of  such  impulses.  We  Spaniards  haven't 
the  nerve." 

"  I  don't  know  their  scoundrelly  language." 

"  ?klanga  Colorada  speaks  Spanish.  I  dare  say  you'll  easily  come  to  an  un- 
derstanding with  him.  As  for  ransom,  anything  that  we  have,  of  course,  except- 
ing food,  arms,  and  ammunition.  I  can  furnish  a  hundred  dollars  or  so.  Go,  my 
dear  Lieutenant ;  go  on  your  noble  mission.     God  be  with  you." 

*■' Vou  will  see  that  I  am  covered,  if  I  have  to  run  for  it." 

"  I'll  see  to  everything.     I'll  line  the  wall  with  sharpshooters." 

"  Post  your  men.     Good-by." 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  Lieutenant." 

Coronado  did  post  his  men,  and  among  them  was  Texas  Smith.  Into  the 
ear  of  this  brute,  whom  he  placed  quite  apart  from  the  other  watchers,  he  whis- 
pered a  few  significant  words. 

"  I  told  ye,  to  begin  with,  I  didn't  want  to  shute  at  brass  buttons,"  growled 
Texas.  "  The  army's  a  big  thing.  I  never  wanted  to  draw  a  bead  on  that  man, 
and  I  don't  want  to  now  more  'n  ever.  Them  army  fellers  hunt  together.  You 
hit  one,  an'  you've  got  the  rest  after  ye  ;  an'  fo;ir  to  one  'sa  mighty  slim  chance." 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  down,"  was  Coronado's  only  reply. 

After  a  moment  of  sullen  reflection  the  desperado  said,  "  Five  hundred  dol- 
lars !     Wal,  stranger,  I'll  take  yer  liet." 

Coronado  turned  away  trembling  and  walked  to  another  part  of  the  wall. 
His  emotions  were  disordered  and  disagreeable  ;  his  heart  throbbed,  his  head  was  a 
little  light,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  p.ale  ;  he  could  not  well  bear  any  more  excite- 
ment, and  he  did  not  want  to  see  the  deed  done.  Rifle  in  hand,  he  was  pre- 
tending to  keep  watch  through  a  fissure,  when  he  observed  Clara  following  the 
line  of  the  ',vall  with  the  obvious  purpose  of  finding  a  spot  whence  she  could  see 
the  plain.     It  seemed  to  him  that  he  ought  to  stop  her,  and  then  it  seemed  tc 


OVERLAND.  1 05 

him  that  he  had  better  not.     With  such  a  lioiiible  chumming  in  h  ts  ears   how 
could  he  lliinlv  clearly  and  decide  wisely  ? 

Clara  disappeared  ;  he  did  not  notice  wlierc  she  went ;  did  not  tiiink  of  look- 
ing. Once  he  thrust  his  head  ihrouj;!!  his  crevice  to  watch  the  course  of  Tliur- 
stane,  but  drew  it  back  again  on  discovering  that  the  brave  lad  had  not  yet 
reached  tlie  Apaches,  and  after  that  looked  no  more.  His  whole  strength  seemed 
to  be  absorbed  in  merely  listening  and  waiting.  We  must  remember  that,  al- 
though Coronado  had  almost  no  conscience,  he  had  nerves, 
(_      Let  us  see  what  happened  on  the  plain  through  the  anxious  eyes  of  Clara. 


CHAPTER  XXr, 

In  the  time-eafcn  wall  Clara  iiad  found  a  fissure  through  whicli  slie  could 
watch  the  parley  between  Thurstane  and  the  Apaches.  She  clinibed  into  it  from 
a  mound  of  disintegrated  adobes,  and  stood  there,  pale,  tremulous,  and  breath- 
less, her  whole  soul  in  her  eyes. 

Thurstane,  walking  his  horse  and  making  signs  of  amity  with  his  cap,  had 
by  this  time  reached  the  low  bank  of  the  rivulet,  and  halted  within  four  hundred 
yards  of  the  savages.  Tiiere  had  been  a  stir  immediately  on  his  appearance: 
first  one  warrior  and  then  another  had  mounted  his  pony  ;  a  score  of  them  were 
now  prancing  hither  and  thither.  They  had  left  tlieir  lances  stuck  in  the  earth, 
but  they  still  carried  their  bows  and  quivers. 

When  Clara  first  caught  sight  of  Thurstane  lie  was  I;eckoning  for  one  of  the 
Indians  to  approach.  They  responded  by  pointing  to  the  summit  of  the  hill,  as 
if  signifying  that  they  feared  to  expose  themselves  to  rifle  shot  from  the  ruins. 
He  resumed  his  march,  forded  the  shallov.'  stream,  and  pushed  on  two  hundred 
yards. 

"  O  ]\radre  de  Dios  !  "  groaned  Clara,  falling  into  the  language  of  her  child- 
lood.     "  He  is  going  clear  up  to  them." 

Siie  was  on  the  point  of  shrieking  to  him,  but  she  saw  tliat  he  was  too  far  off 
o  hear  her,  and  she  remained  silent,  just  staring  and  trembling. 

Thurstane  was  now  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  Apaches.  Except 
the  twenty  who  had  first  mounted,  they  were  sitting  on  the  ground  or  standing 
tiy  their  ponies,  every  face  set  towards  the  solitary  white  man  and  every  figure 
as  motionless  as  a  statue.  Those  on  horseback,  moving  slowly  in  circles,  were 
spreading  out  gradually  on  either  side  of  the  main  body,  but  not  advancino-. 
Presently  a  warrior  in  full  Mexican  costume,  easily  recognizable  as  I\Ian"-a  Col- 
orada  himself,  rode  straight  towards  Thurstane  for  a  hundred  yards,  threw  his 
bow  and  quiver  ten  feet  from  him,  dismounted  and  lifted  both  hands.  The  of- 
ficer likewise  lifted  his  hands,  to  show  that  he  too  was  without  arms,  moved  for- 
ward to  within  thirty  feet  of  the  Indian,  and  thence  advanced  on  foot,  leading  his 
horse  by  the  bridle. 

Clara  perceived  that  the  two  men  were  conversing,  and  she  began  to  hope 
that  all  might  go  well,  although  her  heart  still  beat  suffocatingly.  The  next 
moment  she  was  almost  paralyzed  with  horror.  She  saw  Manga  Colorada 
spring  at  Thurstane  ;  slie  saw  his  dark  arms  around  him,  the  two  interlaced  and 
reeling  ;  she  heard  the  triumphant  yell  of  the  Indian,  and  the  response  of  his 
fellows  ;  she  saw  the  officer's  startled  horse  break  loose  and  prance  away.  In 
tlie  same  instant  the  mounted  Apaches,  sending  forth  their  war-whoop  and  un- 
ilinging  their  bows,  charged  at  full  speed  toward  the  combatants, 
<     Thurstane  had  but  five  seconds  in  which  to  save  his  life.     Had  he  been  a 


Li 


r 


L 


103  OVERLAND. 

man  of  slight  or  even  moderate  physical  and  moral  force,  there  would  not  .iav« 
been  the  slightest  chance  for  him.  But  he  was  six  feet  high,  broad  in  the 
shoulders,  limbed  like  a  gladiator,  solidified  by  hardships  and  marches,  accus- 
tomed to  danger,  never  losing  his  head  in  it,  and  blessed  with  lots  of  pugnacit}-. 
He  was  pinioned;  but  with  one  gigantic  effort  he  loosened  the  Indian's  lean 
sinewy  arms,  and  in  the  next  breath  he  laid  him  out  wilh  a  blow  worthy  ot 
Heenan. 

Thurstane  was  free  ;  now  for  his  horse.  The  animal  was  frightened  and  ca- 
pering wildly  ;  but  he  cauglit  him  and  flung  himself  into  the  saddle  without 
mir  ding  stirrups  ;  then  he  was  riding  for  life.  Before  h.e  had  got  fairly  undei 
headway  the  foremost  Apaches  were  within  fifty  paces  of  him,  yelling  like 
demons  and  letting  fly  their  arrows,  liut  every  weapon  is  uncertain  on  horseback, 
and  especially  every  missile  weapon,  the  bow  as  well  as  the  rifle.  Thus,  al- 
though a  score  of  shafts  hissed  by  the  fugitive,  he  still  kept  his  seat ;  and  as  his 
powerful  beast  soon  began  to  draw  ahead  of  the  Indian  ponies,  escape  seemea 
probable. 

He  had,  however,  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  another  and  even  a  greater  peril. 
In  a  crevice  of  the  ruined  wall  which  crested  the  hill  crouched  a  pitiless  assas- 
sin and  an  almost  unerring  shot,  waiting  the  right  moment  to  send  a  bullet 
through  his  head.  Texas  Smith  did  not  like  the  job  ;  but  he  had  said  '•  You 
bet,"  and  had  thus  pledged  his  honor  to  do  the  murder;  and  moreover,  he 
sadly  wanted  the  five  hundred  dollars.  If  he  could  have  managed  it,  he  would 
have  preferred  to  get  the  officer  and  some  "  Injun  "  in  a  line,  so  as  to  bring  tliem 
down  together.  But  that  v/as  hopeless;  the  fugitive  was  increasing  his  lead  ; 
now  was  the  time  to  fire — now  or  never. 

When  Clara  beheld  Manga  Colorada  seize  Thurstane,  she  had  turned  in- 
stinctively and  leaped  into  the  enclosure,  with  a  feeling  that,  if  she  did  not  see 
the  tragedy,  it  would  not  be.  In  the  next  breath  slie  was  wild  to  know  what 
was  passing,  and  to  be  as  near  to  the  officer  and  his  perils  as  possible.  A  little 
further  along  tlie  wall  was  a  fissure  which  was  lower  and  broader  than  the  one 
she  had  just  quitted.  She  had  noticed  it  a  minute  before,  but  had  not  gone  to 
it  because  a  man  was  there.  Towards  this  man  she  now  rushed,  calling  out, 
"  Oh,  do  save  him  !  " 

Her  voice  and  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  were  alike  drowned  by  a  rattle  of 
musketry  from  other  parts  of  the  ruin.  She  reached  the  man  and  stood  behind 
him  ;  it  was  Texas  Smith,  a  being  from  whom  she  had  hitherto  shrunk  with  in- 
stinctive aversion  ;  but  now  he  seemed  to  her  a  friend  in  extremity.  He  was 
aiming;  she  glanced  over  his  shoulder  along  the  levelled  rifle;  in  one  breatli  she 
saw  Thurstane  and  saw  that  the  weapon  was  pointed  at  hi?n.  With  a  shriek  she 
sprau"-  forward  against  the  kneeling  assassin,  and  flung  him  clean  through  the 
crevice  upon  the  earth  outside  the  wall,  the  rifle  exploding  as  he  fell  and  send- 
ing its  ball  at  random. 

Texas  Smith  was  stupefied  and  even  profoundly  disturbed.  After  rolling 
over  twice,  he  picked  himself  up,  picked  up  his  gun  also,  and  v.hile  hastily  re- 
loading it  clambered  back  into  his  lair,  more  than  ever  confounded  at  seeing  no 
one.  Clara,  her  exploit  accomplished,  had  instantly  turned  and  fled  along  the 
course  of  the  wall,  not  at  all  wilh  the  idea  of  escaping  from  the  bushwhacker, 
but  merely  to  meet  Thurstane.  She  passed  a  dozen  men,  but  not  one  of  them 
saw  her,  they  were  all  so  busy  in  popping  away  at  the  Apaches.  Just  as  she 
reached  the  large  gap  in  the  rampart,  her  hero  cantered  through  it,  erect,  unhurt, 
ros)',  handsome,  magnificent.  The  impassioned  gesture  of  joy  with  which  she 
welcomed  him  was  a  something,  a  revelation  perhaps,  which  the  youngster  saw' 


OVERLAND.  lOl 

»nd  understood  afterwards  belter  than  he  did  then.     For  t/ie  present  he  merely 
waved  her  towards  the  Casa,  and  then  turned  to  take  a  hand  in  the  fighting. 

Ikil  the  fighting  was  over.  Indeed  the  Apaches  had  stopped  their  pursuit  as 
soon  as  they  found  tliat  tlie  fugitive  was  beyond  arrow  shot,  and  were  now  pranc- 
ing slowly  back  to  their  bivouac.  After  one  angry  look  at  them  from  the  wall, 
Thurstane  leaped  down  and  ran  after  Clara. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  gasped,  out  of  breath  and  almost  faint.     "  Oh,  how  it  has  fright- 
ened me  ! " 
r"    ".\nd  it  was  all  of  no  use,"  he  answered,  passing  her  arm  into  his  and  suj> 
/  porting  her. 

"  No.    Poor  Pepita  !    Poor  little  Pepita  !     But  oh,  what  an  escape  you  had  !  " 

"We  can  only  hope  th.it  they  will  adopt  her  into  the  tribe,"  he  said  in  an- 
swer to  the  first  phrase,  while   he  timidly  pressed  her  arm   to  thank  htr  for  the 
V^econd. 

Coionado  now  came  up,  ignorant  of  Texas  .Smith's  misadventure,  and  puz- 
zled at  the  escape  of  Thurstane,  but  as  fluent  and  complimentary  as  usual. 

"  My  dear  Lieutenant  !     Language  is  below  my  feelings.     I   want  to  kneel 
down  and  worship  you.     You  ought  to  have  a  statue — yes,  and  an  altar.     If  your 
j    humnnity  has  not  been  successful,  it  has  been  all  the  same  glorious." 

"Nonsense,"  answered  Thurstane.     "Every  one  of  us  has  done  well  in  his 
turn  !     It  was  my  tour  of  duty  to-day.     Don't  praise  me.     I  haven't  accomplished 
( anytiiing." 

"Ah,  tlie  scoundrels!"  declaimed  Coronado.  "How  could  they  violate  a 
truce  !  It  is  unknown,  unheard  of.  The  miserable  traitors  !  1  wish  you  could 
have  killed  Manga  Colorada." 

From  this  dialogue  he  hurried  away  to  find  and  catechise  Texas  Smith.  The 
desperado  told  his  story:  "Jest  got  a  bead  on  him — had  him  sure  pop — never 
see  a  squarer  mark — when  somebody  mounted  me — pitched  me  clean  out  of  my 
hole." 

"  Who  ? "  demanded  Coronado,  a  rim  of  white  showing  clear  around  his  black 
pupils. 

"  Dunno.     Didn't  see  nobody.     'Fore  I  could  reload  and  git  in  it  was  gone." 

"What  the  devil  did  you  stop  to  reload  for?" 

"  Stranger,  I  allays  reload." 

Coronado  flinched  under  the  word  slraagcr  and  the  stare  which  accompa- 
nied it. 

"  It  was  a  woman's  yell,"  continued  Texas. 

Coronado  felt  suddenly  so  weak  that  he  sat  down  on  a  mouldering  heap  of 
adol)es.  He  thought  of  Clara  ;  was  it  Clara  ?  Jealous  and  terrified,  he  for  an 
instant,  only  for  an  instant,  wished  she  were  dead. 

"See  here,"  he  said,  when  he  had  restrung  his  nerves  a  little.  "We  must 
separate.     If  there  is  any  troul/.e,  call  on  me.     I'll  stand  by  you." 

"  I  reckon  you'd  better,"  muttered  Smith,  looking  at  Coronado  as  if  h.e  wcie 
already  drawing  a  bead  on  him. 

Without  further  talk  they  parted.  The  Texan  went  ofT  to  rub  down  his 
horse,  mend  his  accoutrements,  squat  around  the  cooking  fires,  and  gamble  with 
the  drivers.  Perhaps  he  was  just  a  bit  more  fastidious  than  usual  about  having 
his  weapons  in  perfect  order  and  constantly  handy  ;  and  perhaps  too  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  a  little  oftener  than  common  while  at  his  work  or  his  games ; 
but  on  the  whole  he  was  a  masterpiece  of  strong,  serene,  ferocious  self-posses- 
sion. Coronado  also,  as  unquiet  at  heart  as  the  devil,  was  outwardly  as  calm  as 
Greek  art.     They  were  certainly  a  couple  of  almost  sublime  scoundrels. 


lOS  OVERLAND. 

It  was  now  niglitfiill  ;  llie  day  closed  witli  extraordinary  abruptness  ;  the  sun 
went  down  as  though  he  had  been  struck  dead  ;  it  was  like  the  fall  of  an  ox  un- 
der the  axe  of  the  butcher.  One  minute  he  was  sliining  with  an  intolerable,  fe- 
verish fervor,  and  the  next  he  had  vanished  behind  the  lofty  ramparts  of  the 
plateau. 

It  was  Ser^reant  IMever's  tour  as  officer  of  the  day,  and  he  had  prepared  for 
the  night  with  the  thoroughness  of  an  old  soldier.  The  animals  were  picketed 
in  the  innermost  rooms  of  the  Casa  Grande,  while  tlie  spare  baggage  was  neat- 
ly piled  along  the  walls  of  the  central  apartment.  Tliurstane's  squad  was  quar-' 
tered  in  one  of  the  two  outer  rooms,  and  Coronado's  squad  in  the  other,  each 
man  liaving  his  musket  loaded  and  lying  beside  him,  with  the  butt  at  his  feet 
and  the  muzzle  pointing  toward  the  wall.  One  sentry  was  posted  on  the  roof 
of  the  building,  and  one  on  the  ground  twenty  yards  or  so  from  its  salient  angle, 
while  further  away  were  two  fires  which  partially  lighted  up  the  great  enclosure. 
The  sergeant  and  such  of  his  men  as  were  not  on  post  slept  or  watched  in  the 
open  air  at  the  corner  of  the  Casa. 

The  night  passed  without  attack  or  alarm.  Apache  scouts  undoubtedly 
prowled  around  the  enclosure,  and  through  its  more  distant  shadows,  noting  av- 
enues and  chances  for  forlorn  hopes.  But  they  were  not  ready  as  yet  to  do  any 
nocturnal  spearing,  and  if  ever  Indians  wanted  a  night's  rest  they  wanted  it. 
The  garrison  was  equally  quiet.  Texas  Smitli,  too  f;imiliar  with  ugly  situations 
to  lie  awake  when  no  good  was  to  be  got  by  it,  chose  his  corner,  curled  up  in  his 
blanket  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just.  Overwiielming  fatigue  soon  sent  Coro- 
nado  off  in  like  manner.  Clara,  too  ;  she  was  querying  how  much  she  should 
tell  Thurstane  ;  all  of  a  sudden  she  was  dreaming. 

When  broad  daylight  opened  her  eyes  she  was  still  lethargic  and  did  not 
know  where  she  was.  A  stretch  ;  a  long  wondering  stare  about  her  ;  then  she 
sprang  up,  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  roof,  and  looked  over.  There  was  Thurstane, 
alive,  taking  off  his  hat  to  her  and  waving  her  back  from  the  brink.  It  was  a 
second  and  more  splendid  sun-rising ;  and  for  a  moment  she  was  full  of  happi- 
ness. 

At  dawn  Meyer  had  turned  out  his  squad,  patrolled  the  enclosure,  made  sure 
that  no  Indians  were  in  or  around  it,  and  posted  a  single  sentry  on  the  south- 
eastern angle  of  the  ruins,  which  commanded  the  whole  of  the  little  plain.  He 
discovered  that  the  Apaches,  fearful  like  all  cavalry  of  a  night  attack,  had  with- 
drawn to  a  spot  more  than  a  mile  distant,  and  had  taken  the  precaution  of  secur- 
ing their  retreat  by  garrisoning  t!ie  mouth  of  the  canon.  Having  made  his  dis- 
positions and  his  reconnoissance,  the  sergeant  rei^orted  to  Thurstane. 

"Turn  out  the  animals  and  let  them  pasture,"  said  the  officer,  w.;king  up 
promptly  to  the  situation,  as  a  soldier  learns  to  do.  "How  long  will  the  grass 
in  the  enclosure  last  them  ?" 

"Not  three  days,  Leftenant." 

"  To-morrow  we  will  begin  to  pasture  them  on  the  slope.  How  about  fish- 
ing?" 

"  I  cannot  zay,  Leftenant." 

"Take  a  look  at  the  Buchanan  boat  and  see  if  it  can  be  put  together.  We 
may  find  a  chance  to  use  it." 

"  Yes,  Leftenant." 

The  Buchanan  boat,  invented  by  a  United  States  officer  whose  name  it  bears, 
is  a  sack  of  canvas  with  a  frame  of  light  sticks  ;  when  put  together  it  is  about 
twelve  feet  long  by  five  broad  and  three  deep,  and  is  capable  of  sustaining  3 
weight  of  two  tons.     Thurstane,  thinking  that  he  might  have  rivers  to  cross  ic 


OVERLAND.  lO'J 

his  explorations,  had  brought  one  of  tliese  coracles.  At  present  it  was  a  bun- 
rile,  \vtij;liing  one  liundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  forming  llie  load  of  a  .single 
mule.     Meyer  got  it  out,  bent  it  on  to  its  frame,  and  found  it  in  good  condition. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Tluirstane.  "  Roll  it  up  again  and  store  it  safely.  We 
may  want  it  to-morrow." 

Meantime  Clara  had  thought  out  her  problem.  In  her  indignation  at  Texas 
Smith  she  had  contemplated  denouncing  him  before  the  whole  party,  and  had 
found  that  she  had  not  the  courage.  She  had  wanted  to  make  a  confidant  of 
her  relative,  and  had  decided  that  nothing  could  be  more  unwise.  Aunt  Maria 
was  good,  but  she  lacked  practical  sense ;  even  Clara,  girl  as  she  was,  could  see 
the  one  fact  as  well  as  the  other.  Her  final  and  sagacious  resolve  was  to  tel' 
the  tale  to  Thurstane  alone. 

Mrs.  &l.inley,  still  jaded  through  with  her  forced  march,  fell  asleep  immedi- 
ately after  breaktast.  Clara  went  to  the  brink  of  the  roof,  caught  the  officer's 
eye,  and  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her. 

"  We  must  not  be  seen,"  she  whispered  when  he  was  by  her  side.  "  Come 
inside  the  tower.     There  has  been  something  dreadful.     I  must  tell  you." 

Then  she  narrated  how  she  had  surprised  and  interrupted  Texas  Smith  in 
his  attempt  at  murder  ;  for  the  time  she  was  all  Spanish  in  feeling,  and  told  the 
story  with  fervor,  with  passion  ;  and  the  moment  she  had  ended  it  she  began  to 
cry.  Tliurstane  was  so  overwliclmed  by  her  emotion  that  he  no  more  thought 
of  the  danger  which  he  had  escaped  than  if  it  had  been  the  buzzing  of  a  mosqui- 
to. He  longed  to  comfort  her  ;  he  dared  to  put  his  hand  upon  her  waist ; 
rather,  we  should  say,  he  could  not  help  it.  If  she  noticed  it  she  had  no  objec- 
tion to  it,  for  she  did  not  move  ;  but  the  strong  and  innocent  probability  is  that 
she  really  did  not  notice  it. 

"Oh,  what  can  it  mean?"  she  sobbed.  "Why  did  he  do  it?  What  will 
you  do  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  his  voice  tender,  his  blue-black  eyes  full  of  love,  his 
whole  face  angelic  with  affection.  '•  Don't  be  troubled.  Don't  be  anxious.  I 
will  do  wliat  is  right.  1  will  put  him  under  arrest  and  try  him,  if  it  seems  best. 
Jkit  I  don't  want  you  to  be  troubled.  It  shall  all  come  out  right.  I  mean  to 
live  till  you  are  safe." 

After  a  time  he  succeeded  in  soothing  her,  and  then  there  came  a  moment  in 
which  she  seemed  to  perceive  that  his  arm  was  around  her  waist,  for  she  drew  a 
little  away  from  him,  coloring  splendidly.  But  he  had  held  her  too  long  to  be 
able  to  let  her  go  thus  ;  he  took  her  hands  and  looked  in  her  face  with  the  so- 
lemnity of  a  love  which  pleads  for  life. 

"Will  you  forgive  me?"  he  murmured.  "I  must  say  it.  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  love  vou  with  all  my  soul.  I  dare  not  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  am  not  fit  for 
you.     But  have  pity  on  me.     I  couldn't  help  telling  you." 

He  just  saw  that  she  was  not  angry  ;  yes,  he  was  so  shy  and'humble  that  he 
could  not  see  more  ;  but  that  little  glimpse  of  kindliness  was  enough  to  lure  him 
forward.  On  he  went,  hastily  and  stammeringly,  like  a  man  who  has  but  a  mo- 
ment in  which  to  speak,  only  a  moment  before  some  everlasting  fareweil. 

"Oh,  Miss  Van  Diemen  !     Is  there — can  there  ever  be — any  hope  for  me  ?" 

It  was  one  of  the  questions  which  arise  out  of  great  abysses  from  men  who 
in  their  hopelessness  still  long  for  heaven.  No  prisoner  at  the  bar,  faintly  trust- 
ing that  in  the  eyes  of  his  judge  he  might  find  mercy,  could  be  more  anxious 
than  was  Thurstane  at  that  moment.  The  lover  who  does  not  yet  know  that  he 
will  be  loved  is  a  figure  of  tragedy. 


no  OVERLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Although  Tliurstane  did  not  perceive  it,  his  question  was  answered 
the  instant  it  was  asked.  The  answer  started  Hke  lightning  from  Clara's 
heart,  trembled  through  all  her  veins,  flamed  in  her  cheeks,  and  sparkled  in  her 
eyes. 

Such  a  moment  of  agitation  and  happiness  she  had  never  before  known,  and 
had  never  supposed  that  she  could  know.  It  was  altogether  beyond  her  control. 
She  could  have  stopped  her  breathing  ten  times  easier  than  she  could  have 
quelled  her  terror  and  her  joy.  She  was  no  more  master  of  the  power  and  di- 
rection of  her  feelings,  than  the  river  below  was  master  of  its  speed  and  course. 
One  of  the  mightiest  of  the  instincts  which  rule  the  human  race  had  made  her 
entirely  its  own.  She  was  not  herself ;  she  was  Tliurstane  ;  she  was  love.  The 
love  incarnate  is  itself,  and  not  the  person  in  whom  it  is  embodied. 

There  was  but  one  answer  possible  to  Clara.  Somehow,  either  by  look  or 
word,  she  must  say  to  Thurstane,  ''Yes."  Prudential  considerations  might 
come  afterward — might  come  too  late  to  be  of  use  ;  no  matter.  The  only  thing 
now  to  be  done,  the  only  thing  which  first  or  last  must  be  done,  the  only  thing 
which  fate  insisted  should  be  done,  was  to  say  "Yes." 

It  was  said.  Never  mind  how.  Thurstane  heard  it  and  understood  it. 
Clara  also  heard  it,  as  if  it  were  not  she  who  uttered  it,  but  some  overruling 
power,  or  some  inward  possession,  which  spoke  for  her.  She  heard  it  and  she 
acquiesced  in  it.  The  matter  was  settled.  Her  destiny  had  been  pronounced. 
The  man  to  whom  her  heart  belonged  had  his  due. 

Clara  passed  through  a  minute  which  was  in  some  respects  like  a  lifetime, 
and  in  some  respects  like  a  single  second.  It  was  crowded  and  encumbered 
with  emotions  sufficient  for  years  ;  it  was  the  scholastic  needle-point  on  which 
stood  a  multitude  of  angels.  It  lasted,  she  could  not  say  how  long;  and  then 
of  a  sudden  she  could  hardly  remember  it.  Hours  afterwards  she  had  not  fully 
disentangled  from  this  minute  and  yet  monstrous  labyrinth  a  clear  recollection 
of  what  he  had  said  and  what  she  had  answered.  Only  the  splendid  exit  of  it 
was  clear  to  her,  and  that  was  that  she  was  his  aftianced  wife. 

r"  But  oh,  my  friend — one  thing!"  she  whispered,  when  she  had  a  little  re- 
gained her  self-possession.     "  I  must  ask  Muiioz." 

♦'  Your  grandfather  ?     Yes." 

"  r>ut  what  if  he  refuses?"  she  added,  looking  anxiously  in  his  eyes.  She 
was  beginning  to  lay  her  troubles  on  his  shoulders,  as  if  he  were  already  her 
husband. 

"  I  will  try  to  please  him,"  replied  the  young  fellow,  gazing  with  almost 
equal  anxiety  at  her.  It  was  the  beautiful  union  of  the  man-soul  and  woman- 
seal,  asking  courage  and  consolation  the  one  of  the  other,  and  not  only  asking 
L^  but  receiving. 

"  Oh  !  I  think  you  must  please  him,''  said  Cl.ira,  forgetting  how  Munoz  had 
driven  out  his  daughter  for  marrying  an  American.  "  He  can't  help  but  like 
you." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  darling  !  "  whispered  Thurstane,  worshipping  her  fo« 
woi shipping  him. 


OVERLAND.  Ill 

After  a  wlule  Clara  thought  of  Texas  Smith,  and  shucUlered  out,  "  But  oh, 
how  many  dangers !     Oh,  my  friend,  how  will  you  be  safe  ?  " 

•'  Leave  that  to  me,"  he  replied,  comprehending  her  at  once.  "  I  will  lake 
care  of  that  man." 

"  Do  be  prudent." 

"I  will.  For  j'<>«/- sake,  my  dear  child,  I  promise  it.  Well,  now  we  must 
part.     1  must  rouse  no  suspicions." 

"Yes.     We  must  be  prudent." 

He  was  about  to  leave  her  when  a  new  and  terrible  thought  struck  him,  and 
made  him  look  at  her  as  though  they  were  about  to  part  forever, 

"  If  Munoz  leaves  you  his  fortune,"  he  said  firmly,  "you  shall  be  free." 

She  stared  ;  after  a  moment  she  burst  into  a  little  laugh;  then  she  shook 

her  finger  in  his  face  and  said,  blushing,  "  Yes,  free  to  be — your  wife." 

1  He  caught  the  finger,  bent  his   head  over  it  and  kissed  it,  rea  ly  to  cry  upoa 

it.     It  was  the  only  kiss  that  he  had  given  her;  and  wliat  a  world-wide  event  it 

was  to  both  !     Ah,  these  lovers  !     They  find  a  universe  where  others  see  only 

j_^  trifles  ;  they  are  gifted  with  the  second-sight  and  live  amid  miracles. 

"  Do  be  careful,  oh  my  dear  friend  !  "  was  the  last  whisper  of  Clara  as  Tliur- 
stane  quitted  the  tower.  Then  she  passed  the  day  in  ascending  and  descending 
between  iieights  of  happiness  and  abysses  of  anxiety.  Her  existence  hencefor- 
ward was  a  Jacob's  ladder,  which  had  its  foot  on  a  world  of  crime  and  sorrow, 
and  Its  top  in  heavens  passing  description. 

As  for  Thurstane,  he  had  to  think  and  act,  for  something  must  be  done  with 
Texas  Smith.  He  queried  whether  the  fellow  might  not  have  seen  Clara  when 
she  pushed  him  out  of  the  crevice,  and  would  not  seize  the  first  opportunity  to 
kill  her.  Angered  by  this  supposition,  he  at  first  resolved  to  seize  him,  charge 
him  with  his  crime,  and  turn  him  loose  in  the  desert  to  take  his  chance  among 
the  Apaches.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  tliat  it  might  be  possible  to  change  this 
enemy  into  a  partisan.  While  he  was  pondering  these  matters  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  man.  His  army  habit  of  authority  and  of  butting  straight  at  the  face  of  dan- 
ger immediately  got  the  better  of  his  wish  to  manage  the  matter  delicately,  and 
made  him  forget  his  promises  to  be  prudent.  Beckoning  Texas  to  follow  him, 
he  marched  out  of  tlie  plaza  througli  the  nearest  gap,  faced  about  upon  his  foe 
with  an  imperious  stare,  and  said  abruptly,  "  My  man,  do  you  want  to  be  shot?" 

Texas  Smith  had  his  revolver  and  long  hunting-knife  in  his  waist-belt.  He 
thought  of  drawing  both  at  once  and  going  at  Thurstane,  who  was  certainly  in 
no  better  state  for  battle,  having  only  revolver  and  sabre.  But  the  chance  of 
combat  was  even  ;  the  certainty  of  being  slaughter*;!  after  it  by  the  soldiers  was 
depressing;  and,  what  was  more  immediately  to  the  point,  he  was  cowed  by 
that  stare  of  habitual  authority. 

"  Capm 1  don't,"  he  said,  watching  the  officer  with  the  eye  of  a  lynx,  for, 

however  unwilling  to  fight  as  things  were,  he  meant  to  defend  himself. 

"  Because  I  could  have  you  set  up  by  my  sergeant  and  executed  by  my  pri- 
vates," continued  Thurstane. 

"  Capm,  I  reckon  you're  sound  tliere,"  admitted  Texas,  with  a  slight  flinch  in 
his  manner, 
r*       "  Now,  then,  do  you  want  to  fight  a  duel  ?"  broke  out  the  angry  youngster, 
/lis  pugnacit)'  thoroughly  getting  the  better  of  his  wisdom.     '•  We  both  have  pis- 
tols." 

"Capm,"  said  the  bravo,  and  t!ien  came  to  a  pause — "Capm,  I  ain't  a  gen- 
tleman," he  resumed,  with  the  sulky  humility  of  a  bulldog  who  is  beaten  by  his 
I      master.     "  I  own  up  to  it,  Capm.     I  ain't  a  gentleman  " 


r 


L 


112  OVERLAND. 

He  was  a  "poor  white"  by  birth  ;  he  remembered  still  the  "high-toned  gen- 
tlemen" who  used  to  overawe  his  childhood;  he  recognized  in  Thurstane  that 
unforgolten  air  of  domination,  and  he  was  thoroughly  daunted  by  it.  Moreover, 
there  was  his  acquired  and  very  rational  fear  of  the  army — a  fear  which  had  con- 
siderably increased  upon  him  since  he  had  joined  this  expedition,  for  he  h.ad 
noted  carefully  the  disciplined  obedience  of  the  little  squad  of  regulars,  and  had 
been  much  struck  with  its  obvious  potency  for  oftence  and  defence. 

"You  won't  fight.'"  said  the  officer.  "Well,  then,  will  you  stop  hunting 
me  ? " 

"  Capm,  ril  go  that  much." 

"  Will  you  pledge  yourself  not  to  harm  any  one  in  this  party,  man  or  woman?" 

"  I'll  go  that  much,  too." 

"I  doti't  want  to  get  any  tales  out  of  you.  You  can  keep  your  secrets. 
Damn  your  secrets  !  " 

"Capm,  you're  jest  the  whitest  man  I  ever  see." 

"  Will  you  pledge  yourself  to  keep  dark  about  this  talk  that  v/e've  had  .-' " 

"You  bet!"  replied  Texas  Smith,  with  an  indescribable  air  of  humiliation 
"I'm  outbragged.     I  shan't  tell  of  it." 

"I  shall  give  orders  to  my  men.  If  anything  queer  happens,  you  won't  live 
the  day  out." 

"The  keerds  is  stocked  agin  me,  Cnpm.     I  pass.     You  kin  play  it  alone." 

"Now,  then,  walls,  back  to  the  Casa,  and  keep  quiet  during  the  rest  of  this 
journey." 

The  most  humbled  bushwhacker  and  cutthroat  between  the  two  oceans,  Tex- 
as Smith  stepped  out  in  front  of  Thurstane  and  returned  to  the  cooking-tire, 
not  quite  certain  as  he  marched  that  he  would  not  get  a  pislol-ball  in  the  back 
of  his  head,  but  showing  no  emotion  in  his  sv/artliy,  sallov/,  haggard  counte- 
nance. 

Although  Thurstane  trusted  that  danger  from  that  quarter  was  over,  he  nev- 
ertheless called  Meyer  aside  and  muttered  to  him,  "Sergeant,  I  have  some  con- 
fidential orders  for  you.  If  murder  happens  to  me,  or  to  any  other  person  in  this 
partv,  have  that  Texan  shot  immediately." 

"  I  will  addend  to  it,  Leftenant,"  replied  Meyer  with  perfect  calmness  and 
with  his  mechanical  salute. 

"'i.'ju  may  give  Kelly  the  same  instructions,  confiJenfially." 

"Yes,  Leftenant." 

Texas  Smith,  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  awa}',  watched  this  dialogue  with  an  in- 
terest which  even  his  Indian-like  stoicism  could  hardly  conceal.  When  the  ser- 
geant returned  to  the  cooking-fire,  he  gave  him  a  glance  which  was  at  once 
watchful  and  deprecatory,  made  place  for  him  to  sit  down  on  a  junk  of  adobe, 
and  offered  him  a  corn-shuck  cigarito.  Meyer  took  it,  saying,  "Thank  you, 
Schmidt,"  and  the  two  smoked  in  apparently  amicable  silence. 

Nevertheless,  Texas  knew  that  his  doom  was  sealed  if  murder  should  occur 
in  the  expedition ;  for,  as  to  the  protection  of  Coronado,  he  did  not  believe  that 
that  could  avail  against  the  uniform  ;  and  as  to  finding  safety  in  flight,  the  cards 
there  were  evidently  "stocked  agin  him."  Indeed,  what  had  quelled  him  more 
than  anything  else  was  the  fear  lest  he  should  be  driven  out  to  take  his  luck 
among  the  Apaches.  Suppose  that  Thurstane  had  taken  a  fancy  to  swap  him 
for  that  girl  Pepita  ?  What  a  bright  and  cheerful  fire  there  wou.kl  have  been 
for  him  before  sundown  !  How  thoroughly  the  skin  would  have  been  peeled  off 
his  muscles  !     What  neat  carving  at  his  finger  joints  and  toe  johits!     Coarse, 


OVERLAND.  113 

unimaginative,  hardened,  and  beastly  as  Texas  Smith  was,  his  flesh  crawled  a 
little  at  tlie  thought  of  it.     rreseiuly  it  struck  him  that  lie  had*better  do  some 
thing  to  propitiate  a  man  who  could  send  him  to  encounter  such  a  fate. 
"  Scrijeaiit,"  he  said  in  his  harsh,  hollow  croak  of  a  voice. 
"Well,  .Schmidt.?" 

"Them  creeturs  oughter  browse  outside." 
"So.     You  are  right,  Schmidt." 

"  If  the  Capm  'II  let  me  have  three  good  men,  I'll  take  'em  out." 
Meyer's  light-blue  eyes,  twinkling  from  under  his  sandy  eyelashes,  studied' 
the  face  of  the  outlaw. 

"  I  should  z.iy  it  was  a  goot  blan,  Schmidt,"  he  decided.  "  I'll  mention  it  to 
the  leftenant." 

Thurstane,  on  being  consulted,  gave  his  consent.  Meyer  detailed  Shubert 
and  t\v9  of  the  Mexican  cattle-drivers  to  report  to  Smith  for  duly.  The  Te.\2n 
mounted  his  men  on  horses,  separated  one-third  of  the  mules  from  the  others, 
drove  them  out  of  the  enclosure,  and  left  them  on  the  green  hillside,  while  he 
puslied  on  a  quarter  of  a  mile  into  the  plain  and  formed  his  line  of  four  skir- 
mishers. Wlien  a  few  of  the  Apaches  approached  to  see  what  was  going  on,  he 
levelled  his  riHe,  knocked  over  one  of  the  horses,  and  sent  the  rest  off  capering. 
After  four  or  five  hours  he  drove  in  his  mules  and  took  out  another  set.  The 
Indians  could  only  interrupt  his  pastoral  labors  by  m.aking  a  general  charge; 
and  that  would  expose  them  to  a  fire  from  the  ruin,  against  wliich  they  could  not 
retaliate.  T!iey  thouglit  it  wise  to  make  no  trouble,  and  all  day  the  foraging 
went  on  in  peace. 

Peace  every  wiiere.  Inside  the  fortress  sleeping,  cooking,  mending  of  equip- 
ments, and  cleaning  of  arms.  Over  the  plain  mustangs  filling  themselves  with 
grass  and  warriors  searching  for  roots.  Not  a  movement  worth  heeding  was 
made  by  the  Apaches  until  the  herders  drove  in  their  first  relay  of  mules,  when 
a  dozen  hungry  braves  lassoed  the  horse  which  Smith  had  shot,  dragged  him 
away  to  a  safe  distance,  and  proceeded  to  cut  him  up  into  steaks.  On  seeing 
this,  the  Texan  cursed  himself  to  all  the  hells  that  v.-cre'known  to  him. 

'•  It's  the  last  time  they'll  catch  me  butcherin'  for  'em,"  he  growled.  "  If  I 
can't  hit  a  man,  I  won't  shute." 

One  more  night  in  the  Casa  de  Montezuma,  witli  Thurstane  for  officer  of  the 
guard.  His  arrangements  were  like  Meyer's:  the  animals  in  the  rear  rooms  of 
the  Casa  ;  Coronado's  squad  in  one  of  the  outer  rooms,  and  Meyer's  in  the 
otiier  ;  a  sentry  on  the  roof,  and  another  in  the  plaza.  The  only  change  was  that, 
owing  to  scarcity  of  fuel,  no  watch-fires  were  built.  As  Thurstane  expected  an 
attack,  and  as  Indian  assaults  usually  take  place  just  before  daybreak,  he  chose 
the  first  half  of  the  night  for  his  tour  of  sleep.  At  one  he  was  awakened  by 
Sweeny,  who  was  sergeant  of  Ids  squad,  Kelly  being  with  Meyer  and  Shubert 
with  Coronado. 
r"  "Well,  Sweeny,  anything  stirring?"  he  asked. 
'  "  Divil  a  stir,  Liflinant." 

"  Did  nothing  happen  during  your  guard  ?  " 

"  Liftinant,"  replied  Sweeny,  searching  his  memory  for  an  incident  which 
".hould  prove  his  watchfulness — "  the  moon  went  down." 
"  I  hope  you  didn't  interfere." 
I  "I  iflinant,  I  thought  it  was  none  o'  my  bizniss." 

"  Send  a  man  to  relieve  the  sentry  on  the  roof,  and  let  him  come  down  here." 
"  1  done  it,  Liftinant,  before  I  throubled  ye.     Where  shall  we  slape  ?     Jist  b^ 
the  corner  here  ?  " 


114  OVERLAND. 

"No.  I'll  change  tliat.  Two  just  inside  of  one  doorw.iy  and  two  inside  the 
other,     ni  stay  at  the  angle  myself." 

Three  hours  passed  as  quietly  as  the  wool-clad  footsteps  of  the  Grecian  Fate. 
Then,  stealing  through  the  profound  darkness,  came  tlie  faintest  rustle  imagina- 
ble. It  was  not  the  noise  of  feet,  but  rather  that  of  bodies  slowly  dragging 
through  herbage,  as  if  men  were  crasvling  or  rolling  toward  the  Casa.  Thur- 
stane,  not  quite  sure  of  his  hearing,  and  unwilling  to  disturb  the  garrison  without 
cause,  cocked  his  revolver  and  listened  intently. 

Suddenly  the  sentry  in  the  plaza  fired,  and,  rushing  in  upon  him,  fell  motion- 
less at  his  feet,  wiiile  the  air  was  filled  in  an  instant  with  the  whistling  of  ar- 
rows, the  trampling  of  running  men,  and  the  horrible  quavering  of  the  war- 
whoop. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

At  the  noise  of  the  Apache  charge  Thurstane  sprang  in  two  bounds  to  Cor 
onado's  entrance,  and  threw  himself  inside  of  it  with  a  shout  of  "Indians  !" 

It  must  be  remembered  that,  while  a  doorway  of  the  Casa  was  five  feet  in 
depth,  it  was  only  four  feet  wide  at  the  base  and  less  than  thirty  inches  at  the 
top,  so  that  it  was  sometliing  in  the  way  of  a  defile  and  easily  defensible.  The 
moment  Tliurstane  was  inside,  he  placed  himself  behind  one  of  the  solid  jambs 
of  the  opening,  and  presented  both  sabre  and  revolver. 

Immediately  after  him  a  dozen  running  Indians  reached  the  portal,  some  of 
ithem  plunging  into  it  and  tlie  others  pushing  and  howling  close  around  it. 
Three  successive  shots  and  as  many  quick  thrusts,  all  delivered  in  the  darkness, 
tut  telling  at  close  quarters  on  naked  chests  and  faces,  cleared  the  passage  in 
half  a  minute.  By  this  time  Texas  Smith,  Coronado,  and  Sliuhert  had  leaped 
up,  got  their  senses  about  them,  and  commenced  a  fire  of  rifie  shot,  pistol  shot, 
and  buck-and-ball.  In  anotlier  half  minute  nothing  remained  in  the  doorway 
but  two  or  three  corpses,  while  outside  there  were  howls  as  of  wounded.  The 
attack  here  was  repulsed,  at  least  for  the  present. 

But  at  the  other  door  matters  had  gone  differently,  and,  as  it  seemed,  fatally 
ill.  There  had  been  no  one  fully  awakened  to  keep  the  assailants  at  bay  until  the 
other  defenders  could  rouse  themselves  and  use  their  weapons.  Half  a  dozen 
Apaches,  holding  their  lances  before  them  like  pikes,  rushed  over  the  sleeping 
Sweenv  and  burst  clean  into  the  room  before  Meyer  and  his  men  were  fairly 
on  their  feet.  In  the  profound  darkness  not  a  figure  could  be  distinguished  ; 
and  there  was  a  brief  trampling  and  yelling,  during  which  no  one  was  hurt. 
Lances  and  bows  were  useless  in  a  room  fifteen  feet  by  ten,  without  a  ray  of 
light.  Tlie  Indians  threw  down  their  long  weapons,  drew  their  knives,  groped 
hither  and  thither,  struck  out  at  random,  and  cut  each  other.  Nevertheless,, 
they  were  masters  of  the  ground.  Meyer  and  his  people,  crouching  in  corners, 
•could  not  see  and  dared  not  fire.  Sweeny,  awakened  by  a  kneading  of  Apache 
boots,  was  so  scared  that  he  lay  perfectly  still,  and  either  was  not  noticed  or 
was  neglected  as  dead.  His  Mexican  comrade  had  rushed  along  Avith  the  as- 
sailants, got  ahead  of  them,  gained  the  inner  rooms,  and  hastened  up  to  the  roof. 
In  short,  it  was  a  completely  paralyzed  defence. 

Had  the  mass  of  the  Apaches  promptly  followed  their  daring  leaders,  the 
garrison  would  have  been  destroyed.  But,  as  so  often  happens  in  night  attacks, 
there  was  a  pause  of  caution  and  investigation.     Fifty  warriors  halted  around 


OVERLAND.  lla 

the  doorway,  some  whooping  or  calling,  and  otiieis  iislening,  wliilo  ihc  five  or  six 
witliin,  probably  fearful  of  being  hit  if  they  spoke,  maiie  no  answer.  The  senti- 
nel on  the  roof  tired  down  wiHiout  seeing  any  one,  and  had  arrows  sent  back  at 
him  by  men  who  were  as  blinded  as  himself.  The  darkness  and  mystery  crip- 
pled the  attack  almost  as  completely  as  the  defence. 

Sweeny  was  the  tirst  to  break  the  charm.  A  warrior  who  attempteil  to  entet 
the  doorway  struck  his  boot  against  a  pair  of  legs,  and  stooped  down  to  feel  if 
they  were  alive.  By  a  lucky  intuition  of  scared  self-defence,  the  little  Paddy 
matie  a  furious  kick  into  the  air  with  botii  his  .solid  army  shoes,  and  sent  the  in- 
vader reeling  into  the  outer  darkness.  Tlien  he  fired  his  gun  just  as  it  lay,  and 
brouglit  down  one  of  the  braves  inside  with  a  broken  ankle.  The  blaze  of  the 
discharge  faintly  lighted  up  the  room,  and  Meyer  let  fly  instantly,  killing  another 
of  the  intruders.  But  the  Indians  also  had  been  able  to  see.  Those  who  sur- 
vived uttered  their  yell  and  plunged  into  the  corners,  stabbing  with  their  knives. 
There  was  a  wild,  blind,  eager  scuffling,  mixed  with  another  shot  or  two,  oaths, 
whooping,  screams,  tramplings,  and  aimless  blows  with  musket-butts. 

Reinforcements  arrived  for  both  parties,  four  or  five  more  Apaches  stealing 
into  the  room,  while  Thurstane  and  Shubert  came  through  from  Coronado's 
side.  Hitherto,  it  did  not  seem  that  the  garrison  had  lost  any  killed  except  the 
sentry  who  had  f.illen  outside  ;  but  presently  the  lieutenant  heard  Shubert  cry  out 
in  that  tone  of  surprise,  pain,  and  anger,  which  announces  a  severe  wound. 

The  scream  was  followed  by  a  fall,  a  short  scuffle,  repeated  stabbings,  and 
violent  breathing  inixed  with  low  groans.  Thurstane  groped  to  the  scene  of 
combat,  put  out  his  left  hand,  felt  a  naked  back,  and  drove  his  sabre  strongly 
and  cleanly  into  it.     There  was  a  hideous  yell,  another  fall,  and  then  silence. 

After  that  he  stood  ^till,  not  knowing  whither  to  move.  The  trampling  of 
feet,  the  hasty  breathing  of  struggling  men,  the  dull  sound  of  blows  upon  living 
bodies,  the  yells  and  exclamations  and  calls,  had  all  ceased  at  once.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  everybody  in  the  room  had  been  killed  except  himself.  He  could 
not  hear  a  sound  in  the  darkness  besides  the  beating  of  his  own  heart,  and  an  oc- 
casional feeble  moan  rising  from  the  floor.  In  all  his  soldierly  life  he  had  never 
known  a  moment  that  was  anything  like  so  horrible. 

At  last,  after  what  seemed  minutes,  remembering  that  it  was  his  duty  as  an 
officer  to  be  a  rallying  point,  he  staked  his  lil'e  on  his  very  next  breath  and  called 
out  firmly,  "  Meyer  !  " 

"  Here  !  "  answered  the  sergeant,  as  if  he  were  at  roll-call. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  near  the  toorway.  Leftenant.     Sweeny  is  with  me." 

"'Yis  I  be,"  interjected  Sweeny. 

Thurstane,  feeling  his  way  cautiously,  advanced  to  the  entrance  and  found 
Ihe  two  men  standing  on  one  side  of  it. 

"Where  are  the  Indians.'"'  he  whispered. 

"  I  think  they  are  all  out,  except  the  tead  ones,  Leftenant." 

Thurstane  gave  an  order:  "All  forward  to  the  door." 

Steps  of  men  stealing  from  the  inner  room  responded  to   this  command. 

"Call  the  roll,  Sergeant,"  said  Thurstane. 

In  a  low  voice  Meyer  recited  the  names  of  the  six  men  who  belonged  to  his 
«quad,  and  of  Shubert.     All  responded  except  the  last. 

"  I  am  avraid  Shupert  is  gone.  Leftenant,"  muttered  the  sergeant  ;  and  tha 
oflTicer  replied,  "  I  am  afraid  so." 

All  th  s  time  there  had  been  perfect  silence  outside,  as  if  the  Indians  aisc 


113  OVERLAND. 

were  in  a  state  of  suspense  and  anxiety.  But  immediately  after  the  ro'I-call  had 
ceased,  a  few  arrows  whistled  through  the  entrance  and  struck  with  short  sharp 
spats  into  the  hard-finished  partition  within.  * 

"  Yes,  they  are  all  out,"  said  Thurstane.  '"  But  we  must  keep  quiet  till  day- 
break." 

There  followed  a  half  hour  which  seemed  like  a  month.  Once  Tliurstane 
stole  softly  through  the  Casa  to  Coronado's  room,  found  all  safe  there,  and  re- 
turned, stumbling  over  bodies  both  going  and  coming.  At  last  the  slow  dawn 
came  and  sent  a  faint,  faint  radiance  through  the  door,  enabling  the  benighte-d 
eyes  within  to  discover  one  dolorous  object  after  another.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room  lay  the  boy  Shubert,  perfectly  motionless  and  no  doubt  dead.  Here  and 
there,  slowly  revealing  themselves  through  the  diminishing  darkness,  like  horri- 
ble waifs  left  uncovered  by  a  fdling  river,  appeared  the  bodies  of  four  Apaclies, 
naked  to  the  breechclotli  and  painted  black,  all  quiet  except  one  which  twitched 
convulsively.  The  clay  floor  was  marked  by  black  pools  and  stains  which  were 
undoubtedly  blood.  Other  fearful  blotches  were  scattered  along  the  entrance, 
as  if  grievously  wounded  men  had  tottered  through  it,  or  slain  warriors  bad  been 
dragged  out  by  their  comrades. 
P  While  the  battle  is  still  in  suspense  a  soldier  looks  with  but  f;^int  emotion^ 
and  almost  without  pity,  upon  the  dead  and  wounded.  They  are  natural  ;  they 
belong  to  the  scene  ;  what  else  should  he  see  ?  Moreover,  the  essential  senti- 
ments of  the  time  and  place  are,  first,  a  hard  egoism  which  thinks  mainly  of 
self-preservation,  and  second,  a  stern  sense  of  duty  which  regulates  it.  In  tlie 
fiercer  moments  of  the  conflict  even  these  feelings  are  drowned  in  a  wild  excite- 
ment which  may  be  either  exultation  or  terror.  Thus  it  is  that  the  ordirary 
sympatliies  of  humanity  for  the  suffering  and  for  the  dead  are  suspended. 

Looking  at   Shubert,  our  lieutenant  simply  said  to  himself,  "I   have  lost  a 

m.an.     I\Iy  comrnand   is  weakened  by  so  much."     Then  his  mind  turned  with 

promptness  to  the  still  living  and  urgent  incidents  of  tlie  situation.     Could  he 

peep  out  of  the  doorway  without  getting  an  arrow  through  the  head  ?     Was  the 

\     roof  of  the  Casa  safe  from  escalade  ?     Were  any  of  his  people  wounded  ? 

This  last  question  be  at  once  put  in  English  and  Spanish.  Kelly  replied, 
•'  Sliglitly,  sir,"  and  pointed  to  his  left  shoulder,  pretty  smartly  laid  open  by  the 
tlirust  of  a  knife.  One  of  the  Indian  muleteers,  who  was  silling  propped  up  in 
a  corner,  faintly  raised  his  head  and  showed  a  horrible  gash  in  his  thigh.  At 
a  sign  from  Thurstane  anotlier  muleteer  bound  up  the  wound  with  the  sleeve  of 
Shubert's  shirt,  which  he  slashed  ofTfor  the  purpose.  Kelly  said,  "Never  mind 
me,  sir  ;  it's  no  great  affair,  sir." 

"Two  killed  and  two  wounded,"  thought  the  lieutenant.  "  We  are  losing 
more  than  our  proportion." 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  enough  to  distinguish  objects  clearly,  a  lively  fire 
opened  from  tlie  roof  of  the  Casa.  Judging  that  the  attention  of  the  assail- 
ants would  be  distracted  by  this,  Thurstane  cautiously  edged  his  head  forward 
and  peeped  through  the  doorway.  The  Apaches  were  still  in  the  plaza  ;  he  dis- 
covered something  like  fifty  of  them;  they  were  jumjMng  about  and  firing  ar- 
rows at  the  roof.  He  inferred  that  tliis  could  not  last  long  ;  that  they  would 
soon  be  driven  away  by  the  musketry  from  above  ;  that,  in  short,  things  were 
going  well. 

After  a  time,  becoming  anxious  lest  Clara  should  expose  herself  to  the  mis- 
siles, he  went  to  Coronado's  room,  sent  one  of  the  Mexicans  to  reinforce  Me3'er 
and  then  climbed  rapidly  to  the  tower,  taking  along  sabre,  rifle,  and  revolver 


OVERLAxXD.  117 

He  was  asceriLliiig  tlie  last  of  liie  stepped  sticks,  and  had  the  trap-door  of  the 
isolated  room  just  above  him,  when  he  heard  a  shout,  "  Come  up  here,  some- 
body !  " 

It  was  the  snufHiiij;  utterance  of  I'liincas  Glover,  who  slept  on  the  roof  as 
permanent  «;uard  of  the  lailies.  Tumhling  into  the  room,  Thurstane  found  tlie 
skipper  and  two  muleteers  defending  liie  doorway  against  live  Apaches,  who  had 
reached  the  roof,  tliree  of  tlien)  already  on  their  feet  and  plying  tlieir  arrows, 
while  the  two  others  were  clambering  over  tlie  ledge.  Clara  and  Mrs.  Stanley 
were  crouched  on  their  beds  behind  the  shelter  of  tlie  wall. 

The  young  man's  first  desperate  impulse  was  to  rush  out  and  fight  hand  to 
hand,  liut  remembering  the  dexterity  of  Indians  in  single  combat,  he  haltea 
just  in  time  to  escape  a  HiglU  of  missiles,  placed  himself  behind  the  jami)  of  tlie 
doorway,  and  fired  his  rifle.  At  that  short  distance  Sweeny  would  hardly  have 
missed;  and  the  nearest  Apache,  leaning  forward  with  outspread  arms,  fell 
dead.  Then  the  revolver  came  into  play,  and  another  warrior  dropped  his  bow, 
his  shoulder  shattered.  Glover  and  the  muleteers,  steadied  by  this  opportune 
reinforcement,  reloaded  and  resumed  their  file-firing.  Guns  were  too  much  for 
archery  ;  three  Indians  were  soon  stretched  on  the  roof;  tlie  others  slung  them- 
selves over  the  eaves  and  vanished. 

''  Darned  if  iliey  didn't  reeve  a  tackle  to  git  up,"  exclaimed  Glover  in  amaze- 
ment. 

It  appeared  that  the  savages  had  twisted  lariats  into  long  cords,  fastened 
rude  grapples  to  the  end  of  them,  rlung  them  from  the  wall  below  the  Casa,  and 
so  made  their  daring  escalade. 

"  Look  out !  "  called  Tiiurstane  to  the  investigating  Yankee.  But  the  warn- 
ing came  too  late  ;  Glover  uttered  a  yell  of 'surprise,  pain,  and  rage  ;  this  time  it 
was  notfriis  nose,  but  his  left  ear. 

"  Reckon  they'll  jest  chip  off  all  my  feeturs  'fore  they  git  done  with  me,"  he 
grinned,  feeling  of  the  wounded  part.     '*  Git  my  figgerhead  smooth  all  round." 

To  favor  the  escalade,  the  Apaches  in  the  plaza  had  renewed  their  war-whoop, 
sent  flights  of  arrows  at  the  Casa,  and  made  a  spirited  but  useless  charge  on  the 
doorways.  Its  repulse  was  the  signal  for  a  general  and  hasty  fliglit.  Just  as 
the  rising  sun  spread  his  haze  of  ruddy  gold  over  the  east,  there  was  a  despair- 
ing yell  which  marked  the  termination  of  the  conflict,  and  then  a  rush  for  the 
gaps  in  the  wall  of  the  enclosure.  In  one  minute  from  the  signal  for  retreat  the 
top  of  the  hill  did  not  contain  a  single  painted  combatant.  No  vigorous  pur- 
suit;  the  garrison  had  had  enough  of  fighting;  besides,  ammunition  was  becom- 
ing precious.  Texas  Smith  alone,  insatiably  bloodthirsty  and  an  independent 
fighter,  skulked  hastily  across  the  plaza,  ambushed  himself  in  a  crevice  of  the 
ruin,  and  took  a  couple  of  shots  at  the  savages  as  they  mounted  their  ponies  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  and  skedaddled  loosely  across  the  plain. 

When  he  returned  he  croaked  out,  with  an  unusual  air  of  excitement,  "Big 
Ihing!" 

"  Wiiat  is  a  pig  ding  ?  "  inquired  Sergeant  Meyer, 

"  Never  see  Injuns  make  such  a  figlit  afore." 

"  Nor  I,"  assented  Meyer. 

"Stranger,  they  fowt  first-rate,"  aflirmed  Smith,  half  admiring  the  Apaches. 
"  How  many  did  we  save  ? " 

"Here  are  vour  in  our  room,  und  the  leftenant  says  there  are  three  on  the 
roof,  und  berhabs  we  killed  vour  or  vive  outside." 

"A  dozen!"  chuckled  Texas,  "besides  the  wounded.  Let's  hev  a  look  at 
the  dead  uns." 


118  OVERLAND. 

Going  into  Meyer's  room,  he  found  one  of  the  Apaches  still  twitching,  and 
immediately  cut  his  throat.  Then  he  climbed  to  the  roof,  gloated  over  the  three 
bodies  there,  dragged  them  one  by  one  to  the  ledge,  and  pitched  them  into  the 
plaza. 

"That'll  settle  'em,"  he  remarked  with  a  sigh  of  intense  satisfaction,  like  that 
of  a  baby  when  it  has  broken  its  rattle.  Coming  down  again,  he  looked  all  the 
corpses  over  again,  and  said  with  an  air  of  disappointment  which  was  almost 
sentimental,  "  On'y  a  dozen  !  " 

''  I  kin  keer  for  the  Injuns,"  he  volunteered  when  the  question  came  up  of 
burying  the  dead.     "  I'd  rather  keer  for  'em  than  not." 

Before  Thurstane  knew  what  was  going  on,  Texas  liad  finished  his  labor  of 
love.  A  crevice  in  the  nortiiern  wall  of  the  enclosure  looked  out  upon  a  steep 
slope  of  marl,  almost  a  precipice,  which  slanted  sheer  into  the  boiling  flood  of 
the  San  Juan.  To  this  crevice  Texas  dragged  one  naked  carcass  after  another, 
bundled  it  through,  launched  it  with  a  vigorous  shove,  and  then  watched  it  with 
a  pantherish  grin,  licking  his  chops  as  it  were,  as  it  rolled  down  the  steep, 
splashed  into  the  river,  and  set  out  on  its  swift  voyage  toward  the  Pacific. 

"  I  s'pose  you'll  want  to  dig  a  hole  for  ////'/,"  he  said,  coming  into  the  Casa 
and  looking  wistfully  at  the  body  of  poor  young  Shubert. 

Sergeant  Meyer  motioned  him  to  go  away.  Thurstane  was  entering  in  his 
journal  an  inventory  of  the  deceased  soldier's  effects  having  already  made  a 
minute  of  the  date  and  cause  of  his  death.  These  with  other  facts,  such  as  name, 
age,  physical  description,  birthplace,  time  of  service,  amount  of  pay  due,  balance 
of  clothing-account  and  stoppages,  must  be  more  or  less  repeated  on  various 
records,  such  as  the  descriptive  book  of  the  company,  the  daily  return,  tlie 
monthly  return,  the  quarterly  return, -the  muster-roll  from  which  the  name  would 
be  dropped,  and  the  final  statements  which  were  to  go  to  the  Adjutant-General 
and  the  Paymaster-General.  Even  in  the  desert  the  monstrous  accountability 
system  of  the  army  lived  and  burgeoned. 

Notliing  of  importance  happened  until  about  noon,  when  the  sentinel  en  the 
outer  wall  announced  that  the  Apaclies  were  approaching  in  force,  and  Tliurstane 
gave  orders  to  barricade  one  of  the  doors  of  the  Casa  with  some  large  blocks  of 
adobe,  saying  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to  have  done  it  before." 

This  work  well  under  way,  he  hastened  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  recon- 
noitred the  enemy, 
r*       "  They  are  not  going  to  attack,"  said  Coronado.     "  They  are  going  to  torture 
the  girl  Pepita." 

Thurstane  turned  away  sick  at  heart,  observing,  "  I  must  keep  the  women  in 
/     the  Casa." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

When  Thurstane,  turning  his  back  on  the  torture  scene,  had  ascended  to  the 
roof  of  the  Casa,  he  found  the  ladies  excited  and  anxious. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Clara  at  once,  taking  hold  of  his  sleeve  with 
the  tips  of  her  fingers,  in  a  caressing,  appealing  way,  which  was  common  with 
her  when  talking  to  those  she  liked, 
r  Ordinarily  our  officer  was  a  truth-teller;  indeed,  there  was  nothing  which 
came  more  awkwardly  to  him  than  deception  ;  he  hated  and  despi«ed  it  as  if  it 
were  a  personage,  a  criminal,  an  Indian.  But  here  was  a  case  where  he  mu&t 
stoop  to  falsification,  or  at  least  to  concealment. 


OVERLAND.  119 

**The  Apnches  are  just  below,"  lie  imimbled.     "  Not  one  of  you  women  must 
venture  out.     I  will  see  to  everylliing.     Be  •jood  now." 

She  g.ive  his  sleeve  a  little  twitch,  smiled  confidingly  in  his  face,  and  sal 
down  10  do  some  much-needed  mending, 
r        Having  posted  Sweeny  at  the  foot  of  the  ladders,  with  instructions  to  let  non 


L 


) 


e 

of  the  women  descend,  Thurstane  hastened  back  to  the  exterior  wall,  drawn  by 
a  horrible  fiiscinafion.  With  his  field-glass  he  could  distinguish  every  action  or 
the  tragedy  which  was  being  enacted  on  the  plain.  Pepita,  entirely  stripped  of 
her  clothing,  was  alre.idy  bound  to  llie  sapling  wliich  stood  by  the  side  of  tin 
rivulet,  and  twenty  or  thirty  of  the  Apaches  were  dancing  around  her  in  a  circle, 
each  one  approaching  her  in  turn,  howling  in  her  ears  and  spitting  in  her  face. 
The  yo:ing  man  had  read  and  heard  much  of  the  horrors  of  that  torture-dance, 
which  stamps  the  American  Indian  as  the  most  ferocious  of  savages  ;  but  lie 
had  not  understood  at  all  how  large  a  part  insult  plays  in  this  ceremony  of  de- 
liberate cruelty;  aiidj^^^mUm^^_a  woinan  !  he  had  not  once  dreamed  it.  Now, 
when  he  saw  it  done,  his  blood  rushed  into  his  head  and  lie  burst  forth  in  choked 
incoherent  curses. 

*'  I  can't  stand  this,"  he  shouted,  advancing  upon  Coronado  with  clenched 
fists.     "  We  must  charge." 

The  Mexican  shook  his  head  in  a  sickly,  scared  way,  and  pointed  to  the  left. 
There  was  a  covering  party  of  fifty  or  sixty  warriors  ;  it  was  not  more  tlian  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  tlie  eastern  end  of  the  enclosure  ;  it  was  in  position  to 
charge  either  upon  that,  or  upon  the  flank  of  any  rescuing  sally. 

"  We  can  do  it,"  insisted  the  lieutenant,  who  felt  as  if  he  could  fight  twenty 
men. 

"  We  can't,"  replied  Coronado.     "  I  won't  go,  and  my  men  shan't  go." 

Thurstane  thought  of  Clara,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  sobbed 
aloud.  Texas  Smith  stared  at  him  with  a  kind  of  contemptuous  pity,  and  offered 
such  consolation  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  give. 

"  Capm,  when  they've  got  through  tiiis  job  they'll  travel." 

The  hideous  prelude  continued  for  half  an  hour.  The  Apaches  in  the  dance 
were  relieved  by  their  comrades  in  the  covering  party,  who  came  one  by  one  to 
take  their  turns  in  the  round  of  prancing,  hooting,  and  spitting.  Then  came  a 
few  minutes  of  rest ;  then  insult  was  followed  by  outrage. 

The  girl  was  loosed  from  the  sapling  and  lifted  until  her  head  was  even  with 
the  lower  branches,  three  warriors  holding  her  while  two  others  extended  her 
arms  and  fixed  them  to  two  stout  limbs.  What  the  fastenings  were  Thurstane 
could  guess  from  the  fact  that  he  saw  blows  given,  and  heard  the  long  shrill 
scream  of  a  woman  in  uttermost  agony.  Then  there  was  more  liammerinw 
around  the  sufferer's  feet,  and  more  shrill  wailing.  She  was  spiked  through  the 
palms  and  the  ankles  to  the  tree.     It  wasaaucifixio'n^  " 

"By !"  groaned  Thurstane^"  I  neverTvill  spare  an  Indian  as  long  as 

I  live." 

"Capm,  I'm  with  you,"  said  Texns  Smith.  "  I  seen  my  mother  fi.ved  like 
that.  I  seen  it  from  the  bush  whar  I  was  a  hidin'.  I  was  a  boy  then.  I've 
killed  e\"cry  ln]un  1  could  sence?^  '       ~    "  ^       ~ 

Now  the  dance  was  resumed.  The  Apaches  pranced  about  their  victim  to 
the  music  of  her  screams.  The  movement  quickened  ;  at  last  they  ran  around 
the  tree  in  a  maddened  crowd  ;  at  every  shriek  they  stamped,  gestured,  and 
yelled  demoniacally.  Now  and  then  one  of  them  climbed  tlie  i^'il's  bodv  and  ap- 
peared to  stuff  something  into  her  mouth.     Then  the  lamentable  outcries  sank 


I-??  OVERLAND. 

to  a  gasping  and  sobbing  which  could  only  be  imagined  by  the  spectators  od 
the  hill. 

•'  Can't  you  hit  some  of  them  ?  "  Thurstane  askad  Texas  Smith. 

"Better  let  'em  finish,"  muttered  the  borderer.  "The  gal  can't  be  helped. 
She's  as  good  as  dead,  Capm." 

After  another  rest  came  a  fresh  scene  of  horror.  Several  of  the  Apaches,  nc 
doubt  chiefs  or  leading  braves,  caught  up  their  bows  and  renewed  the  dance. 
Running  in  a  circle  at  full  speed  about  the  tree,  each  one  in  turn  let  fly  an  arrow 
at  the  victim,  the  object  being  to  send  the  missile  clear  through  her. 

"That's  the  wind-up,"  muttered  Texas  Smith.     "  It's  my  turn  now." 

He  leaped  from  the  wall  to  the  ground,  ran  sixty  or  eighty  yards  down  the 
hill,  halted,  aimed,  and  fired.  One  of  the  warriors,  a  fellow  in  a  red  shirt  who 
had  been  conspicuous  in  tlie  torture  scene,  rolled  over  and  lay  quiet.  The 
Apaches,  who  had  been  completely  absorbed  by  their  frantic  ceremony,  and  who 
had  not  looked  for  an  attack  at  the  moment,  nor  expected  death  at  such  a  dis- 
tance, uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  and  dismay.  There  was  a  scramble  cf  ten  or  fif- 
teen screaming  horsemen  after  the  audacious  borderer.  But  immi'diately  on 
firing  he  had  commenced  a  rapid  retreat,  at  the  same  time  reloading.  He  turned 
and  presented  his  ritle  ;  just  then,  too,  a  protecting  volley  burst  from  the  ram- 
L   part ;  another  Apache  fell,  and  the  rest  retrented. 

"  Capm,  it's  all  right,"  said  Texas,  as  he  reascended  the  ruin.  "  We're  squar 
with  'em," 

"We  might  have  broken  it  up,"  returned  Tliurstane  sullenly. 

"No,  Capm.  You  don't  know  'em.  They'd  got  thar  noses  p'inted  to  torture 
that  gal.  If  they  didn't  do  it  thar,  they'd  a  done  it  a  little  furder  off.  They  was 
bound  to  do  it.     Now  it's  done,  they'll  travel." 

Warned  by  their  last  misadventure,  the  Indians  presently  retired  to  their 
usual  camping  ground,  leaving  their  victim  attached  to  the  .sapling. 

"  I'll  fetch  her  up,"  volunteered  Texas,  who  had  a  hyena's  hankering  after 
dead  bodies.  "  Reckon  you'd  like  to  bury  her." 
p  He  mounted,  rode  slowly,  and  with  prudent  glances  to  right  and  left,  down 
the  hill,  halted  under  the  tree,  stood  up  in  his  saddle  and  worked  there  for  som4 
minutes.  The  Apaches  looked  on  from  a  distance,  uttering  yells  of  exultation 
and  making  opprobrious  gestures.  Presently  Texas  resumed  his  seat  and  can- 
tered gently  back  to  the  ruins,  bearing  across  his  saddle-bow  a  fearful  burden, 
the  naked  body  of  a  girl  of  eighteen,  pierced  with  more  than  fifty  arrows,  stainet} 
and  streaked  all  over  with  blood,  the  limbs  shockingly  mangled,  and  the  mouth 
stuffed  with  rags. 

While  nearly  every  other  spectator  turned  away  in  horror,  he  glared  steadily 
and  calmly  at  the  corpse,  repeating,  "That's  Injin  fun,  that  is.     That's  what 
I     they  brag  on,  that  is." 

"Bury  her  outside  the  wall,"  ordered  Thurstane,  wit'n  averted  face.  "And 
listen,  all  you  people,  not  a  word  of  this  to  the  women." 

"  We  shall  be  catechised,"  said  Coronado. 

"You  must  do  the  lying,"  replied  the  officer.  He  was  so  shaken  by  what  ha 
had  witnessed  that  he  did  not  dare  to  face  Clara  for  an  hour  afterward,  lest  his 
discomposure  should  arouse  her  suspicions.  When  he  did  at  last  visit  the  tower, 
she  was  quiet  and  smiling,  for  Coronado  had  done  his  lying,  and  done  it  well. 

"  So  there  was  no  attack,"  she  said.     "  I  am  so  glad  !  " 

"Only  a  little  skirmish.     You  heard  the  firing,  of  course." 

"Yes.  Coronado  told  us  about  it.  What  a  horrible  howling  the  Indiana 
made  !     There  were  some  screams  that  v/ere  really  frightful." 


OVERLAND.  121 

/  "  It  was  their  last  demonstration.  Thoy  will  probably  be  gone  in  the  morn- 
ng." 

"Poor  Pepita  !  She  will  be  carried  off,"  said  Clara,  a  tear  or  two  stealing 
1     down  her  cheek. 

"  Yes,  poor  Pepita  !  "  sighed  Thurstane. 

The  muleteer  who  had  been  killed  in  the  assault  was  already  buried.  At 
sundown  came  the  funeral  of  tlie  soldier  Shubert.  The  body,  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  was  borne  by  four  Me.xicans  to  the  grave  which  had  been  prepared  for 
it,  followed  by  his  three  comrades  with  loaded  muskets,  and  then  by  all  the 
other  members  of  the  party,  except  Mrs.  Stanley,  who  looked  down  from  her 
roof  upon  the  spectacle.  Thurstane  acted  as  chaplain,  and  read  the  funeral  ser- 
I  vice  from  Clara's  prayer-book,  amidst  the  weeping  of  women  and  the  silence  of 
men.  The  dead  young  hero  was  lowered  into  his  last  resting-place.  Sergeant 
Meyer  gave  the  order:  "Siioulder  arms — ready — present— aim — fire!"  The 
ceremony  was  ended ;  the  muleteers  fdled  the  grave ;  a  stone  was  placed  to 
L  mark  it;  so  slept  a  good  soldier. 

Now  came  another  night  of  anxiety,  but  also  of  quiet.  In  the  morning,  when 
eager  eyes  looked  througli  the  yellow  haze  of  dawn  over  the  plain,  not  an 
Apache  was  to  be  seen. 

"  They  are  gone,"  said  Coronado  to  Thurstane,  after  the  two  had  made  the 
tour  of  the  ruins  and  scrutinized  every  feature  of  the  landscape.     "  What  next  ?  " 

Thurstane  swept  his  field-glass  around  once  more,  searching  for  some  outlet 
besides  the  horrible  canon,  and  searching  in  vain. 

"We  must  wait  a  day  or  so  for  our  wounded,"  he  said.  "Then  we  must 
start  back  on  our  old  trail.     I  don't  see  anything  else  before  us." 

"  It  is  a  gloomy  prospect,"  muttered  Coronado,  thinking  of  the  hundred  miles 
of  rocky  desert,  and  of  the  possibility  that  Apaches  might  be  ambushed  at  the 
end  of  it. 

He  had  been  so  anxious  about  himself  for  a  few  days  that  he  had  cared  for  lit- 
tle else.  He  had  been  humble,  submissive  to  Thurstane,  and  almost  entirely  in- 
different about  Clara. 

"We  ought  at  least  to  try  something  in  the  way  of  explorations,"  continued 
the  lieutenant.  "To  begin  v/itli,  I  shall  sound  the  river.  I  shall  be  thought  a 
devil  of  a  failure  if  I  don't  carry  back  some  information  about  the  topography  of 
this  region." 

"  Can  you  paddle  your  boat  against  the  current  ?"  asked  Coronado. 

"  I  doubt  it.  But  we  can  make  a  towing  cord  of  lariats  and  let  it  out  from 
the  siiore  ;  perhaps  swing  it  clear  across  the  river  in  that  way — with  some  pad- 
dling, you  know." 

"  It  is  an  excellent  plan,"  said  Coronado. 

The  day  passed  without  movement,  excepting  that  Texas  Smith  and  two 
Mexicans  explored  the  canon  for  several  miles,  returning  with  a  couple  of  lame 
ponies  and  a  report  that  the  Apaches  had  undoubtedly  gone  southward.  At 
night,  however,  the  animals  were  housed  and  sentries  posted  as  usual,  for  Thur- 
stane feared  lest  the  enemy  might  yet  return  and  attempt  a  surprise. 

The  next  morning,  all  being  quiet,  the  Buchanan  boat  was  launched.  A 
couple  of  fairish  paddles  were  chipped  out  of  bits  of  driftwood,  and  a  towline  a 
nundred  feet  long  was  made  of  lariats.  Thurstane  further  provisioned  the  cockle- 
shell with  fishing  tackle,  a  sounding  line,  his  own  rifle,  Shubert's  musket  and  ac- 
coutrements, a  bag  of  hard  bread,  and  a  few  pounds  of  jerked  beef. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  make  a  voyage  ! "  stared  Coronado. 


122  OVERLAND. 

"I  am  preparing  for  accidents.     We  may  get  carried  down  the  river." 

"I  thought  you  proposed  to  keep  fast  to  the  shore." 

"  I  do.     But  the  lariats  may  break." 

Coronado  said  no  more.  He  lighted  a  cigarito  and  looked  on  with  an  an  of 
dreamy  indifference.     He  had  hit  upon  a  plan  for  getting  rid  of  Thurstane. 

The  next  question  was,  who  could  handle  a  boat  ?  The  lieutenant  wanted 
two  men  to  keep  it  out  in  the  current  wliile  he  used  the  sounding  line  and  re 
corded  results. 

"Guess  I'll  do  's  well  's  the  nex'  hand,"  volunteered  Captain  Glover.  "Get 
sore  ear,  'u'  a  hole  in  my  nose,  but  reckon  I'm  'n  able-bodied  seaman  for  all 
that.  Hev  rowed  some  in  my  time.  Rowed  forty  mile  after  a  whale  onct,  'n' 
caught  the  critter — fairly  rowed  him  down.  Current's  putty  lively.  Sh'd  say  't 
was  tearin'  oft' 'bout  five  knots  an  hour.  But  guess  I'll  try  it.  Sh'd  kinder  like 
to  feel  water  under  me  agin." 

"Captain,  you  shall  handle  the  ship,"  smiled  Thurstane.  "  I'll  mention  you 
by  name  in  my  report.     Who  next  ?  " 

"  Me,"  yelped  S^veeny. 

"  Can  you  row.  Sweeny  ?  " 

"  I  can,  Liftinant." 

"You  may  try  it." 

"Can  I  take  me  gun,  Liftinant?"  demanded  Sweeny,  who  was  extravagantly 
fond  and  proud  of  his  piece,  all  the  more  perhaps  because  he  held  it  in  awe. 

"  Yes,  you  can  take  it,  and  Glover  can  have  Shubert's.  Though,  'pon  my 
honor,  I  don't  know  why  we  should  carry  firearms.  It's  old  habit,  I  suppose. 
It's  a  way  we  have  in  the  army." 

The  lieutenant  had  no  sort  of  anxiety  on  the  score  of  his  enterprise.  His 
plan  was  to  swing  out  into  the  current,  and,  if  the  boat  proved  perfectly  manage- 
able, to  cut  loose  from  the  towline  and  paddle  across,  sounding  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  channel.  It  seemed  easy  enough  and  safe  enough.  When  he  left 
the  Casa  Grande  after  breakfast  he  contrived  to  kiss  Clara's  hand,  but  it  did  not 
once  occur  to  him  that  it  would  be  proper  to  bid  her  farewell.  He  was  very  far 
indeed  from  guessing  that  in  the  knot  of  the  lariat  which  was  fast  to  the  bow  of 
his  coracle  there  w-as  a  fatal  gash.  It  was  not  suspicion  of  evil,  but  merely  a 
habit  of  precaution,  a  prudential  tone  of  mind  which  he  had  acquired  in  service, 
that  led  him  at  the  last  moment  to  say  (making  Coronado  tremble  in  his  boots), 
"Mr.  Glover,  have  you  thoroughly  overhauled  the  cord?" 

"Give  her  a  look  jest  before  we  went  up  to  breakfast,"  replied  the  skipper. 
"She'll  hold." 

Coronado,  who  stood  three  feet  distant,  b!ev/  a  quiet  little  vvViIiT  of  smoite 
through  his  thin  purple  lips,  meanwhile  dreamily  contemplating  the  speaker. 

"Git  in,  you  paddywhack,"  said  Glover  to  Sweeny.  "Grab  yer  paddle. 
T'other  end  ;  that's  the  talk.     Now  then.     All  aboard  that's  goin'.     Shove  off." 

In  a  few  seconds,  impelled  from  the  shore  by  the  paddles,  the  boat  was  at  the 
full  length  of  the  towline  and  in  the  middle  of  the  boiling  current. 

"  Will  it  never  break  ? "  thought  Coronado,  smoking  a  littie  faster  than  usua^i, 
but  not  moving  a  muscle. 

Yes.  It  had  already  broken.  At  the  first  pause  in  the  paddling  the  man- 
gled lariat  had  given  way. 

In  spite  of  the  renewed  efforts  of  the  oarsmen,  the  boat  was  flying  iown  tk* 
San  Juan. 


OVERLAND.  12S 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


When  Tluirstane  perceiveil  that  the  towliiie  had  i)arled  and  tliat  tlie  boat 
Was  f;Iidin<;  down  the  San  Juan,  he  called  sharply,  "I'addle  !  " 

He  was  in  no  alarm  as  yet.  The  line,  although  of  rawhide,  was  swilchinjj  on 
the  surface  of  the  rapid  current  ;  it  seemed  easy  enough  to  recover  it  and  make 
a  new  tastening.  Passing  from  the  stern  to  the  bow,  he  knell  down  and  dipped 
one  hand  in  the  water,  ready  to  clutch  the  end  of  the  larial. 

But  a  boat  five  feet  long  and  twelve  feet  broad,  especially  when  made  of  can- 
vas on  a  frame  of  light  slicks,  is  not  handily  paddled  against  swift  water;  and 
C  the  Buchanan  (as  the  voyagers  af'erward  named  it)  not  only  sagged  awkwardly, 
but  showed  a  strong  tendency  to  whirl  around  like  an  egg-shell  as  it  was. 
Moreover,  the  loose  line  almost  instantly  took  the  direction  of  the  stream,  and 
swept  so  rapidly  shoreward  that  by  the  time  Tluirstane  was  in  position  to  seize 
it,  it  was  rods  away. 

"  Row  for  the  bank,"  he  ordered.  But  just  as  he  spoke  there  came  a  little 
noise  which  was  to  these  three  men  the  crack  of  doom.  The  paddle  of  that 
most  unskilful  navigator,  Sweeny,  snapped  in  two,  and  the  broad  blade  of  it  was 
instantly  out  of  reach.  Next  the  cockle-shell  of  a  boat  was  spinning  on  its  keel- 
less  bottom,  and  whirling  broadside  on,  bow  foremost,  stern  foremost,  any  way, 
down  the  San  Juan. 

*  Paddle  away!"  shouted  Thurst'^ne  to  Glover.  "Drive  her  in  shore! 
Pilch  her  in  !  " 

The  ok!  coaster  sent  a  quick,  anxious  look  down  the  river,  and  saw  at  once 
that  there  was  no  chance  of  reacliing  the  bank.  Below  them,  not  th.ree  hundred 
yards  distant,  was  an  archipelago  of  rocks,  the  debris  of  fallen  precipices  and 
pinnacles,  througli  which,  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  the  water  flew  in  whirlpools 
and  foam.  They  were  dril'ting  at  great  speed  toward  this  frightful  rapid,  and,  if 
they  entered  it,  destruction  was  sure  and  instant.  Only  the  middle  of  the  stream 
showed  a  smooth  current ;  and  there  was  less  than  half  a  minute  in  which  to 
reach  it.  Without  a  word  Glover  commenced  paddling  as  well  as  he  could  away 
from  the  bank. 

"What  are  you  about?"  yelled  Thurstane,  who  saw  Clara  on  the  roof  of  the 
Casa  Grande,  and  was  crazed  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  there.  She  would 
suspect  that  he  had  abandoned  her  ;  she  would  be  massacred  by  the  Apaches  ; 
she  would  starve  in  the  desert,  etc. 

Glover  made  no  reply.  His  whole  being  was  engaged  in  the  sliuggle  of 
evading  immediate  death, 
p  One  more  glance,  one  moment  of  manly,  soldierly  reflection,  enabled  Thur- 
stane to  comprehend  the  fate  which  was  upon  him,  and  to  bow  to  it  with  resigna- 
tion. Turning  his  back  upon  the  foaming  reefs  which  might  the  next  instant  be 
his  executioners,  he  stood  up  in  the  boat,  took  oflf  his  cap,  and  waved  a  farewell 
to  Clara.  He  was  so  unconscious  of  anything  but  her  and  his  parting  from  her 
that  for  some  time  he  did  not  notice  that  the  slight  craft  had  narrowly  shaved 
the  rocks,  that  it  had  barely  crawled  into  the  middle  current,  and  that  he  was 
temporarily  safe.     He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Casa  and  upon  the  giiTs  mo- 


12 1  OVERLAND. 

tionless  figure  until  a  monstrous,  sullen  precipice  slid  in  between.  He  was  likp 
one  who  breathes  his  last  wilh  straining  gaze  settled  on  some  loved  face,  part- 
ing from  whicli  is  worse  than  death.  When  he  could  see  her  no  longer,  nor  the 
ruin  which  sheltered  her,  and  which  suddenlj'  seemed  to  him  a  paradise,  he 
j      dropped  his  head  between  his  hands,  utterly  unmanned. 

"'Twon't  dew  to  give  it  up  while  we  float.  Major,"  said  Glover,  breveting  the 
lieutenant  by  way  of  cheering  him. 

"  I  don't  give  it  up,"  replied  Thurstane  ;  "but  I  had  a  duty  to  do  there,  and 
now  I  can't  do  it." 

"There's  doolies  to  be  'tended  to  here,  I  reckon,"  suggested  Glover. 

"They  will  be  done,"  said  the  officer,  raising  his  head  and  settling  his  face. 
"  How  can  we  help  you  .'' " 

"Don't  seem  to  need  much  help.  The  river  doos  the  paddlin';  wish  it 
didn't.  No  'casion  to  send  anybody  aloft.  I'll  take  a  seat  in  the  stern  'n'  mind. 
the  helium.     Guess  that's  all  they  is  to  be  done." 

"You  dum  paddywhack,"  he  presently  reopened,  "what  d'ye  break  yer  pad- 
dle for  ?  " 

"I  didn't  break  it,"  yapped  Sweeny  indignantly.     "  It  broke  itself." 

"Well,  what  d'ye  say  y'  could  paddle  for,  when  y'  couldn't?" 

"I  can  paddle.     I  paddled  as  long  as  I  had  anythin'  but  a  sthick." 

"  Oh,  you  dum  landlubber  !  "  smirked  Glover.  "What  if  I  should  order  ye 
to  the  masthead  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  go,"  asseverated  Sweeny.  "  I'll  moind  no  man  who  isn't  me  su- 
parlor  officer.  I've  moindin'  enough  to  do  in  the  arrmy.  I  wouldn't  go  onless 
the  liftinint  towld  me.     Thin  I'd  go." 

"  Guess  y'  wouldn't  now." 

"Yis  I  wud." 

"But  they  an't  no  mast." 

"  I  mane  if  there  was  one." 
P        This  kind  of  babble  Glover  kept  up  for  some  minutes,  with  the  sole  object 
of  amusing  and  cheering  Thurstane,  whose  extreme  depression  surprised  and 
alarmed  him.     He  knew  that  the  situation  was  bad,  and  that  it  would  take  lots 
l_of  pluck  to  bring  them  through  it. 

"  Capm,  where  d'ye  think  we're  bound?"  he  presently  inquired.  "Where- 
abouts doos  this  river  come  out?" 

"  It  runs  into  the  Colorado  of  the  West,  and  that  runs  into  the  head  of  the 
Gulf  of  California." 

"Californy  !  Reckon  I'll  git  to  the  diggins  quicker  'n  I  expected.  Goin'  at 
this  rate,  we'll  make  about  a  hundred  'n'  twenty  knots  a  day.  What's  the  dis- 
tance to  Californy  ?  " 

"  By  the  bends  of  the  river  it  can't  be  less  than  twelve  hundred  miles  to  the 
gulf." 

"Whew!"  went  Glover.  "Ten  days'  sailin'.  Wal,  smooth  water  all  the 
way  ? " 

"  The  San  Juan  has  never  been  navigated.  So  far  as  I  know,  we  are  the  first 
persons  who  ever  launched  a  boat  on  it." 

"Whew!  Whj',  it's  like  discoverin'  Ameriky.  Wal,  what  d'ye  guess  about 
the  water  ?     Any  chance  'f  its  bein'  smooth  clear  through  ?  " 

"  The  descent  to  the  gulf  must  be  two  or  three  thousand  feet,  perhaps  more. 
We  can  hardly  fail  to  find  rapids.     I  shouldn't  be  astonished  by  a  cataract." 

Glover  gave  a  long  whistle  and  fell  into  grave  meditation.     His  conclusion 


r 


u 


r 


0\'ERLAXD.  125 

wi^s  :  "Cant  navigate  niylits,  that's  a  fact.  Have  to  come  to  anclior.  Tliat 
makes  twenty  days  on't.  Wal,  Capm,  fust  thing  is  to  fish  up  a  hit  'f  chiflwood 
'n'  whittle  out  'nother  paddle.  Want  a  boat-pole,  too,  like  tluinder.  We're  aw- 
ful sliort  'f  spars  for  a  lon<;  vovai:;e." 

His  lively  mind  had  hardly  dismissed  this  subject  before  he  remarked  :  "  Dum 
cur'ous  that  towline  breaking.  I  overhauled  every  foot  on't.  I'd  a  bet  my  bot- 
tom fo'pence  on  its  drawin'  ten  ton.  H.'\ul  in  the  slack  end  'n'  let's  hev  a  peek 
at  it." 

The  tip  of  the  lariat,  which  was  still  attached  to  tlie  boat,  being  handed  to  him, 
he  examined  it  minutely,  closed  his  eyes,  whistled,  and  ejaculated,  "Sawed  !  " 

''What.'"  asked  Thurstane. 

"  Sawed,"  repeated  Glover.  "  That  leather  was  haggled  in  tew  with  a  jagged 
knife  or  a  sharp  flint  or  suthin  'f  that  sort.  Done  a  purpose,  's  sure  's  I'm  a 
sinner." 

Thurstane  took  the  lariat,  inspected  the  breakage  carefully,  and  scowled  with 
helj-iless  rage. 

'•That  infernal  Texan  !  "  lie  muttered. 

"Sho!"  said  Glovei'.  "That  feller.''  Anythin'  agin  ye?  Wal,  Capm,  then 
all  I've  got  to  say  is,  you  come  off"  easy.  That  feller 'd  cut  a  sleepin'  man's 
throat.  I  sh'd  say  thank  God  for  the  riddance.  Tell  ye  I've  watched  that  cuss 
Been  blastedly  afeard  'f  him.  Hev  so,  by  George  !  The  further  I  git  from  hira 
the  safer  I  feel." 

"  Not  a  nice  man  to  leave  iJicre"  muttered  Thurstane,  whose  anxiety  was 
precisely  not  for  himself,  but  for  Clara.  The  young  fellow  could  not  be  got  to 
talk  much  ;  he  was  a  good  deal  upset  by  his  calamity.  The  parting  from  Clara 
was  an  awful  blow;  the  thought  of  her  dangers  made  him  feel  as  if  he  could 
jump  overboard  ;  and,  lurking  deep  in  his  soul,  there  was  an  ugly  fear  that  Coro- 
nado  might  now  win  her.  He  was  furious  moreover  at  having  been  tricked, 
and  meditated  bedlamite  plans  of  vengeance.  For  a  time  he  stared  more  at  the 
mangled  lariat  than  at  tlie  amazing  scenery  through  wiiich  he  was  gliding. 

And  yet  that  scenery,  although  only  a  prelude,  only  an  overture  to  the  trans- 
cendent oratorios  of  landscape  which  were  to  follow,  was  in  itself  a  horribly  sub- 
lime creation.  Not  twenty  minutes  after  the  snapping  of  the  towline  the  boat 
had  entered  one  of  those  stupendous  caRons  which  form  the  distinguishing  char- 
acteristic of  the  great  American  table-land,  and  make  it  a  region  unlike  any 
other  in  the  world. 

Remember  that  the  cafSon  is  a  groove  chiselled  out  of  rock  by  a  river.  Al- 
though a  groove,  it  is  never  straight  for  long  distances,  Tiie  river  at  its  birth 
was  necessarily  guided  by  the  hollows  of  the  primal  plateau  ;  moreover,  it  was 
tempted  to  labor  along  the  softest  surfaces.  Thus  the  caiion  is  a  sinuous  gully, 
cu'  down  from  the  hollows  of  rocky  valleys,  and  following  their  courses  of  de- 
scent from  mountain-chain  toward  ocean. 

In  these  channels  the  waters  have  chafed,  ground,  abraded,  eroded  for  cen- 
niries  which  man  cannot  number.  Like  the  Afreets  of  the  Arabian  Niglits,  they 
have  been  mighty  slaves,  subject  tQ  a  far  migiitier  master.  That  potent  magi- 
cian whose  lair  is  in  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and  whom  men  have  vaguely  styled 
the  attraction  of  gravitation,  has  summoned  them  incessantly  toward  himself. 
In  their  struggle  to  render  him  obedience,  they  have  accomplisjied  results  which 
make  all  the  works  of  man  insignificant  by  comparison. 

To  begin  with,  vast  lakes,  which  once  swept  westward  from  the  bases  of  the 
Rock)  Mountains,  were  emptied  into  the   Pacific.     Next  tlie  draining  oirrents 


123  OVERLAND. 

transformed  into  rivers,  cut  their  way  tbrougli  the  soil  which  formerly  covered 
the  table-lands  and  commenced  tlieir  attrition  upon  the  underlying  continent  of 
sandstone.  It  was  a  grinding  which  never  ceased;  every  pebble  and  every 
bowlder  which  lay  in  the  way  was  pressed  into  the  endless  labor;  mountains 
were  used  up  in  channelling  mountains. 

The  central  magician  was  insatiable  and  pitiless  ;  he  demanded  not  only  the 
Waters,  but  whatever  they  could  bring;  lie  hungered  after  the  earth  and  all  ihat 
covered  it.  His  obedient  Afreets  toiled  on,  denuding  the  plateaux  of  their  soil, 
washing  it  away  from  every  slope  and  peak,  pouring  it  year  by  year  into  the 
canons,  and  whirling  it  on  to  the  ocean.  The  rivers,  the  brooklets,  the  springs, 
and  the  rains  all  joined  in  this  eternal  robbery.  Little  by  little  an  eighth  of  a 
continent  was  stripped  of  its  loam,  its  forests,  its  grasses,  its  flowers,  its  vegeta- 
tion of  every  species.  What  had  been  a  land  of  f^rtilliy  became  an  arid  and 
rocky  desert. 

Then  the  minor  Afreets  jierished  of  the  results  of  their  own  obedience. 
There  being  no  soil,  the  fountains  disappeared;  there  being  no  evaporation,  the 
rains  diminished.  Deprived  of  sustenance,  nearly  all  the  shorter  streams  dried 
up,  and  the  channels  which  tliey  had  hewn  became  arid  gullies.  Only  those 
rivers  continued  to  exist  which  drew  their  waters  from  the  snowy  slopes  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  or  from  the  spurs  and  ranges  which  intersect  the  plateaux. 
The  ages  may  come  when  these  also  will  cease  to  flow,  and  throughout  all  this 
portion  of  tlie  continent  the  central  magician  will  call  for  his  Afreets  in  vain. 

For  some  time  we  must  attend  much  to  the  scenery  of  the  desert  thus^cre- 
ated.  It  has  become  one  of  the  individuals  of  om:  stoiTj_an_cl_interferes  wkh  the 
fate  of  the  merelv  human  personages.  Tliurstane  could  not  long  ignore  its  mag- 
nificent, oppressive,  and  potent  presence.  Forgeltirig  somewhat  his  anxieties 
about  the  loved  one  whom  he  had  left  behind,  he  looked  about  him  with  some 
such  amazement  as  if  he  had  been  translated  from  earth  into  regions  of  super- 
nature. 

The  canon  through  which  he  was  flying  was  a  groove  cut  in  solid  sandstone, 
less  than  two  hundred  feet  wide,  with  precipitous  walls  of  fifteen  hundred  feet, 
from  the  summit  of  which  the  rock  sloped  away  into  buttes  and  peaks  a  thou- 
sand feet  higher.  On  every  side  the  horizon  was  half  a  mile  above  his  head. 
He  was  in  a  chasm,  twenty-five  hundred  feet  below  the  average  surface  of  the 
]^    earth,  the  floor  of  which  was  a  swift  river. 

r~  He  seemed  to  himself  to  be  traversing  the  abodes  of  the  Genii.  Although 
he  had  only  heard  of  "  Valhek,'"  he  thought  of  the  Hall  of  Eblis.  It  was  such  an 
dbyss  as  no  artist  has  ever  hinted,  excepting  Dore  in  his  picturings  of  Dante's 
•"Inferno."  Could  Dante  himself  have  looked  into  it,  he  would  have  peopled  it 
with  the  most  hopeless  of  his  lost  spirits.  The  shadow,  the  aridity,  the  barren- 
ness, the  solemnity,  the  pitilessness,  the  horrid  cruelty  of  the  scene,  were  more 
than  might  be  received  into  the  soul.  It  was  something  which  could  not  be  im- 
agined, and  which  when  seen  could  not  be  fully  remembered.  To  gaze  on  it 
was  like  beholding  the  mysterious,  wicked  countenance  of  the  father  of  all  evil. 
It  was  a  landscape  which  was  a  fiend. 

The  precipices  were  not  bare  and  plain  faces  of  rock,  destitute  of  minor  fin- 
ish and  of  color.  They  had  their  horrible  decorations  ;  they  showed  the  in- 
genuity and  the  artistic  force  of  the  Afreets  wlio  had  fashioned  them  ;  they  were 
wrought  and  tinted  with  a  demoniac  splendor  suited  to  their  magnitude.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  goblin  Michel  Angelo  had  here  done  his  carving  and  fresco- 
ing at  the  command  of  the   lords    of   hell.     Layers  of  brown,  gray,  and  orange 


OVERLAND.  127 

••xnilstone,  alternited  from  base  to  summit;  anil  lliese  tints  were  laiil  on  with 
^  breadth  of  eiVcct  wliich  was  prodigious:  a  hundred  feet  in  height  and  miles  in 

I     lengtli  at  a  stroke  of  the  brush. 

The  architectur.-il  and  sculptural  results  were  equally  monstrous.  There  were 
lateral  shelves  twenty  feet  in  width,  and  thousands  of  yards  in  length.  There 
were  towers,  pilasters,  and  formless  caryatides,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  heiglit. 
Great  bulks  projected,  cai)ped  by  gigantic  mitres  or  diadems,  and  flanked  by 
cavernous  imlentations.  In  consequence  of  the  varying  solitlity  of  the  stone, 
the  river  luid  wrought  the  precipices  into  a  series  of  innumerable  monuments, 
more  or  less  enormous,  commemorative  of  coinbats.  There  had  been  intermi- 
nable strife  here  between  thedemons  of  earth  and  the  demons  of  water,  and  each 
side  had  set  up  its  trophies.  It  was  the  Vatican  and  the  Catacombs  of  the 
Genii  ;  it  was  the  museum  and  the  mausoleum  of  the  forces  of  nature. 

f"  At  various  points  tributary  gorges,  the  graves  of  fluvial  gods  who  had  per- 
ished long  ago,  opened  into  the  main  caiion.  In  passing  these  the  voyagers 
had  momentary  glimpses  of  sublimities  and  horrors  which  seemed  like  the 
handiwork  of  that  "anarch  old,"  who  wrought  before  the  shaping  of  the  uni- 

1  verse.  One  of  these  sarcophagi  was  a  narrow  cleft,  not  more  than  eighty  feet 
broad,  cut  from  surface  to  base  of  a  bed  of  sandstone  one-third  of  a  mile  in 
depth.  It  was  inhabited  by  an  eternal  gloom  which  was  like  the  shadow  of  the 
blackness  of  darkness.  The  stillness,  the  absence  of  all  life  whether  animal  or 
vegetable,  the  dungeon-like  closeness  of  the  monstrous  walls,  were  beyond  lan- 
guage. 

Another  gorge  was  a  ruin.  The  rock  here  being  of  various  degrees  of  den- 
sity, the  waters  had  essayed  a  thousand  channels.  All  the  softer  veins  had 
been  scooped  out  and  washed  away,  leaving  the  harder  blocks  and  masses  piled 
in  a  coloss.d  grotesque  confusion.     Along  t!ie  sloping  sides   of  the  gap  stood 

I    bowlders,  pillars,  needles,  and  strange  shapes  of  stone,  peering  over  each  other's 

I  heads  into  the  gulf  below.  It  was  as  if  an  army  of  misshapen  monsters  and 
giants  had  been  petrified  with  horror,  while  staring  at  some  inconceivable  deso- 

CJation  and  ruin.  There  was  no  hope  for  this  concrete  despair;  no  imaginable 
voice  could  utter  for  it  a  word  of  consolation  ;  the  gazer,  like  Dante  amid  the 
torsnented,  could  only  "  look  and  pass  on." 

At  one  point  two  lateral  canons  o|)ened  side  by  side  upon  the  San  Juan. 
The  partition  was  a  stupendous  pile  of  rock  fifteen  hundred  t'eet  in  altitude,  but 
so  narrow  that  it  seemed  to  the  voyagers  below  like  the  single  standing  wall  of 
some  ruined  edifice.  Although  the  space  on  its  summit  was  broad  enough  for  a 
cathedral,  it  did  not  appear  to  them  that  it  would  afford  footing  to  a  man,  while 
the  enclosing  fissures  looked  narrow  enough  to  be  crossed  at  a  bound.  On 
either  side  of  this  isolated  bar  of  sandstone  a  idumb-line  might  have  been  drop- 
ped straight  to  the  level  of  the  river.  The  two  chasms  were  tombs  of  shadow, 
where  nothing  ever  stirred  but  winds. 

The  solitude  of  this  continuous  panorama  of  precipices  was  remarkable.  It 
was  a  region  without  man,  or  beast,  or  bird,  or  insect.  The  endless  rocks,  not 
only  denuded,  but  eroded  and  scraped  by  the  action  of  bygone  waters,  could 
furnish  no  support  for  anim.al  life.  A  beast  of  prer,  or  even  a  mountain  goat, 
would  have  starved  here.  Could  a  condor  of  the  Andes  have  visited  it,  he  would 
have  spread  his  wings  at  once  to  leave  it. 

Yet  horrible  as  the  scene  was,  it  was  so  sublime  that  it  fascinated.  Foi 
hours,  gazing  at  lofty  masses,  vast  outlines,  prodigious  assemblages  of  rocky 
imagery,  endless  strokes  of  natural  frescoing,  the  three  adventurers  either  ex- 


123  OVERLAND. 

changed  rare  words  of  astonishment,  or  lay  in  reveries  which  transported  them 
beyond  earth.  What  Thurstane  felt  he  could  only  express  by  recalling  random 
lines  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost."  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  they  might  at  any  mo- 
ment emerge  upon  the  lake  of  burning  marl,  and  float  into  the  shadow  of  the 
walls  ot  Pandemonium.  He  would  not  have  felt  himself  carried  much  beyond 
his  present  circumstances,  had  he  suddenly  beheld  Satan, 

High  on  .T  tlirone  of  royal  state,  uliicli  far 
Outshone  tlie  wtaitli  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind. 

He  was  roused  from  his  dreams  by  the  quick,  dry,  grasshopper-like  voice  of 
Pliineas  Glover,  asking,  "  V/hat's  that  ?  " 

A  deep  whisper  came  up  the  chasm.  They  could  hardly  distinguish  it  when 
they  stretched  their  hearing  to  the  utmost.  It  seemed  to  steal  with  difficulty 
against  the  rushing  flood,  and  tlien  to  be  swept  down  again.  It  sighed  tlireaten- 
ingly  for  a  moment,  and  instantaneotjsly  became  silence.  One  miglit  liken  it  to 
a  ghost  trying  to  advance  through  some  castle  hall,  only  to  be  borne  backward 
by  the  fitful  night-breeze,  or  by  some  mysterious  ban.  Was  the  desert  inhabited, 
and  by  disembodied  demons  ? 

After  a  further  flight  of  half  a  mile,  this  variable  sigh  changed  to  a  contin- 
uous murmur.  There  was  now  before  the  voyagers  a  straight  course  of  nearly 
two  miles,  at  the  end  of  which  lay  hid  the  unseen  power  which  gave  forth  this 
solemii  menace.  Tlie  river,  perfectly  clear  of  rocks,  was  a  sheet  of  liquid  por- 
phyry, an  arrow  of  dark-red  water  slightly  flecked  with  foam.  The  walls  of  the 
canon,  scarcely  fifty  yards  apart  and  more  stupendous  than  ever,  rose  in  preci- 
pices without  a  landing-place  or  a  foothold.  So  far  as  eye  could  pierce  into  the 
twilight  of  the  sublime  chasm,  there  was  not  a  spot  where  the  boat  could  be  ar- 
rested  in  its  flight,  or  where  a  sv.'immer  cou'd  find  a  slielf  of  safety. 
/^  "  It  is  a  rapid,"  said  Thurstane.  "  You  did  well,  Captain  Glover,  to  get  an- 
\  other  paddle." 

"  Lord  bless  ye  !"  returned  the  skipper  impatiently,  "it's  lucky  I  was  whit- 
tlin'  while  you  was  thinkin'.     If  we  on'y  liad  a  boat-hook  !  '' 

From  moment  to  moment  the  murmur  came  nearer  and  grew  louder.  It  was 
smotherci.!  and  then  redoubled  by  the  reverberations  of  the  caiion,  so  that  some- 
times it  seemed  the  tigerish  snarl  of  a  rapid,  and  sometimes  the  leonine  roar  of  a 
cataract.  A  bend  of  the  chasm  at  last  brought  tlie  voyngers  in  sight  of  the 
/  monster,  which  was  frothing  and  howling  to  devour  them.  It  was  a  terrific 
F-pectacIe.  It  was  like  Apollyon  "  straddling  quite  across  tlie  way,"  to  intercept 
Christian  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  P'rom  one  dizz}'  rampart  to 
the  other,  and  as  far  down  the  echoing  cavern  as  eye  could  reach,  the  river  was 
I     white  with  an  arrowy  rapid  storming  though  a  labyrinth  of  rocks. 

Sween\-,  evidently  praying,  moved  his  lips  in  silence.     Glover's  face  had  the 

Ckeen,  anxious,  watchful  look  of  the  sailor  affronting  shipwreck  ;  and  Thurstane's 
the  set,  enduring  rigidity  of  the  soldier  who  is  tried  to  his  utmost  by  cannonade. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  three  adventurers  were  entering  the  gorge  of  an  impassable  rapid. 

Here  had  once  been  the  barrier  of  a  cataract ;  the  waters  had  ground  through 
it,  tumbled  it  down,  and  gnawed  it  to  tatters  ;  the  scattered  bowlders  which 
showed  through  the  foam  were  the  remnants  of  the  Cyclopean  feast. 

There  appeared  to  be  no  escape  from  death.  Any  one  of  those  stones  would 
rend  the  canvas  boat  from  end  to  end,  or  double   it  into  a  wet  rag  ;  ac  i  if  a 


OVEKLATTD.  120 

Bwimmer  should  perch.ince  reach  the  bank,  lie  would  drown  there,  looking  up  at 
precipices  ;  or,  if  he  should  find  a  footinjj,  it  would  only  be  to  starve. 

"There  is  our  chance,"  said  Thurstane,  pointing  to  a  bowlder  as  large  as  a 
house  which  stood  under  the  northern  wall  of  the  cnfton,  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  above  llie  first  yeast  of  the  rapid. 

He  and  Glover  each  took  a  paddle.  They  had  but  one  object  :  it  was  to  get- 
under  the  lee  of  the  bowlder,  and  so  stop  their  descent  ;  after  that  they  would 
see  what  more  could  be  done.  Danger  and  safety  were  alike  swift  here  ;  it  was 
a  hurry  as  of  battle  or  tempest.  Almost  before  they  began  to  hope  for  success, 
they  were  circling  in  tlve  narrow  eddy,  very  nearly  a  whirlpool,  which  wheeled 
just  below  the  isolated  rock.  Even  here  the  utmost  caution  was  necessary,  for 
while  the  Buchanan  was  as  light  as  a  bubble,  it  was  also  as  fragile. 

Sounding  the  muddy  water  with  their  paddles,  they  slowly  glided  into  the 
angle  between  the  bowlder  and  the  precipice,  and  jammed  the  fragment  of  the 
towline  in  a  crevice.  For  the  first  time  in  six  hours,  and  in  a  run  of  tiiirty  miles, 
they  were  at  rest.  Wiping  the  sweat  of  labor  and  anxiety  from  their  brows, 
they  looked  about  them,  at  first  in  silence,  querying  what  next  ? 

"  I  wish  I  was  on  an  iceberg,"  said  Glover  in  his  despair. 

"An'  I  wish  I  was  in  Oirland,"  added  Sweeny.  "But  if  the  divil  himself 
was  to  want  to  desart  here,  he  couldn't." 

Thurstane  believed  that  he  had  seen  Clara  for  the  last  time,  even  should  she 
escape  her  own  perils.  Througli  his  field-glass  he  surveyed  the  whole  gloomy 
scene  with  microscopic  attention,  searching  for  an  exit  out  of  this  monstrous 
man-trap,  and  searching  in  vain.  It  was  as  impossible  to  descend  the  rapid  as  it 
was  to  scale  the  walls  of  the  canon.  He  had  just  heard  Sweeny  say,  "  I  wish  I 
was  bein'  murlhered  by  thim  naygurs,"  and  had  smiled  at  the  utterance  of  des- 
peration with  a  grim  sympathy,  when  a  faint  hope  dawned  upon  him. 

Not  more  than  a  yard  above  the  water  was  a  ledge  or  shelf  in  the  face  of  the 
precipice.  The  la3-er  of  sandstone  immediately  over  this  shelf  was  evidently 
softer  than  the  general  mass  ;  and  in  other  days  (centuries  agoX  when  it  had 
formed  one  level  with  the  bed  of  the  river,  it  had  been  deeply  eroded.  This  ero- 
sion had  been  carried  along  the  canon  on  an  even  line  of  altitude  as  flxr  as  the 
softer  layer  extended.  Thurstane  could  trace  it  with  his  glass  for  what  seemed 
to  him  a  mile,  and  there  was  of  course  a  possibility  that  it  reached  below 
the  foot  of  the  rapid.  Tiie  groove  was  everywhere  about  twenty  feet  high,  while 
its  breadth  varied  from  a  yard  or  so  to  nearly  a  rod. 

Here,  then,  was  a  road  by  which  they  might  perhaps  turn  the  obstacle.  The 
only  difficulty  was  that  while  the  bed  of  the  river  descended  rapidly,  the  shelf 
kept  on  at  the  same  elevation,  so  that  eventually  the  travellers  would  come  to  a 
jumpingoff  place.  How  high  would  it  be  ?  Could  they  get  down  it  so  as  tore- 
gain  the  stream  and  resume  their  navigation?  Well,  they  must  try  it;  there 
was  no  other  road.  With  one  eloquent  wave  of  his  hand  Thurstane  pointed  out 
this  slender  chance  of  escape  to  his  comrades. 

"  Hurray!  "  shouted  Glover,  after  a  long  stare,  in  which  the  emotions  sue* 
ceeded  each  other  like  colors  in  a  dolphin. 

"  Can  we  make  the  jump  at  the  other  end  ?"  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"Reckon  so,"  chirruped  Glover.     "  Look  a  here." 

He  exhibited  a  pile  of  unpleasant-looking  matter  which  proved  to  be  a  mass 
of  strips  of  fresh  hide. 

"  Hoss  skin,"  he  explained.  "  Peeled  off  a  mustang.  Borrowed  it  from  that 
Texan  cuss.     Thought  likely  we  might  want  to  splice  our  towline.     'Bout  tea 


130  OVERLAND. 

fathom,  I  reckon  ;  'n'  there's  tlie  lariat,  two  fatliom  more.  All  we've  got  to  de 
is  to  pack  up,  stick  our  backs  under,  'n'  travel. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  they  commenced  their  prepara- 
tions for  making  this  extraordinary  portage.  Sunk  as  they  were  twenty-five 
hundred  feet  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  the  sun  had  already  set  for  them  ;  but 
they  were  still  favored  with  a  sort  of  twilight  radiance,  and  they  could  count  upou 
it  for  a  couple  of  hours  longer.  Carefully  the  guns,  paddles,  and  stores  were 
landed  on  the  marvellous  causeway  ;  and  tlien,  with  still  greater  caution,  the 
boat  was  lifted  to  tlie  same  support  and  taken  to  pieces.  The  whole  mass  of 
material,  some  two  hundred  pounds  in  weight,  was  divided  into  three  portions. 
Each  shouldered  his  pack,  and  the  strange  journey  commenced. 

"  Sweeny,  don't  you  fall  off,"  said  Glover.     "  We  can't  spare  them  sticks." 

"  If  I  fall  off,  ye  may  shute  me  where  I  stand,"  returned  Sweeny.  "  I  know 
better  *n  to  get  drowned  and  starved  to  death  in  wan.  I  can  take  care  av  meself. 
I've  sailed  this  a  way  many  a  time  in  th'  ould  counthry." 

The  road  was  a  smooth  and  easy  one,  barring  a  few  cumbering  bowlders. 
To  the  left  and  below  was  the  river,  roaring,  hissing,  and  foaming  through  its 
chevaux  de  frise  of  rocks.  In  front  the  canon  stretched  on  and  on  until  its  walls 
grew  dim  with  shadow  and  distance.  Above  were  overhanging  precipices  and  a 
blue  streak  of  sunlit  skv. 

It  was  quite  dusk  with  the  wanderers  before  they  reached  a  point  where  the 
.San  Juan  once  more  flowed  with  an  undisturbed  current. 

"We  can't  launch  by  this  light,"  said  Thurstane.     "We  will  sleep  here." 

"It'll  be  a  longish  night,"  commented  Glover.  "But  don't  see's  we  can 
shorten  it  by  growlin'.  When  fellahs  travel  in  the  bowels  'f  th'  earth,  they've  got 
to  follow  the  customs  'f  th'  country.  Puts  me  in  mind  of  Jonah  in  the  whale's 
belly.  Putty  short  tacks,  Capm.  Nine  hours  a  day  won't  git  us  along  anv  too 
fast.  But  can't  help  it.  Night  travellin'  ain't  suited  to  our  boat.  Suthin' 
like  a  bladder  football  :  one  pin-prick  'd  cowallapse  it.  Wal,  so  we'll  settle. 
Lucky  we  wanted  our  blankets  to  set  on.  'Pears  to  me  this  rock's  a  \eetle 
harder'n  a  common  deck  plank.  LTnroll  tlie  boat,  Capm  ?  Wal,  guess  we'd 
better.  Needs  dryin'  a  speck.  Too  muchsoakin'  an't  good  for  canvas.  Better 
dry  it  out,  'n'  fold  it  up,  'n'  sleep  on't.  This  passageway  that  we're  in,  sh'd  say 
it  might  git  up  a  smart  draught.  What  d'ye  say  to  this  spot  for  campin'  ?  Twenty 
foot  breadth  of  lieam  here.  Kind  of  a  stateroom,  or  bridal  chamber.  No  need 
offallin'  out.  Ever  walk  in  yer  sleep,  Sweeny?  Better  cut  it  right  square  off 
to-night.  Five  fathom  down  to  the  river,  sh'd  say.  Splash  ye  awfully, 
Sweeny." 

Thus  did  Captain  Glover  prattle  in  his  cheerful  way  while  the  party  made  its 
preparations  for  the  night. 

They  were  like  ants  lodged  in  some  transverse  crack  of  a  lofty  wall.  They 
■were  in  a  deep  cut  of  the  shelf,  witii  fifteen  hundred  or  two  tiiousand  feet  of  sand- 
stone above,  and  the  porpliyry-colored  river  tliirty  feet  below.  The  narrow  strip 
-of  sky  far  above  tlieir  heads  was  darkening  rapidly  with  the  approach  of  night, 
and  with  an  accumulation  of  clouds.  All  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  descent  of 
muddy  water,  charged  with  particles  of  red  earth  and  powdered  sandstone^  pour- 
ing by  them  down  the  overhanging  precipice. 

"  Liftinant !"  exclaimed  Sweeny,  "  thim  naygurs  up  there  is  washin' theii 
iirty  hides  an'  pourin'  the  suds  down  on  us." 

"It's  the  rain.  Sweeny.     There's  a  shower  on  the  plateau  above." 


OVERLAND.  131 

"The  rain,  is  it?  Thin  all  hate  people  in  that  counthry  must  stand  in  <>reat 
nade  of  oinbrellys."  * 

The  scene  was  more  marvellous  tlian  ever.  Not  a  drop  of  rain  fcil  in  the 
nver;  the  immense  facade  opposite  them  was  as  dry  as  a  skull  ;  yet  here  was 
th.s  muddy  cataract.  It  fell  for  half  an  hour,  scarcely  so  much  as  spatterinff 
them  m  the.r  recess,  but  plun-ing  over  them  into  the  torrent  beneatlu  By  the 
t.me  .t  ce.ised  they  had  eaten  their  supper  of  hard  bread  and  harder  beef,  and 
lighted  their  pipes  to  allay  their  thirst.  There  was  a  laying  of  plans  to  re-ain 
the  r.-er  to-morrow,  a  grave  calculation  as  to  how  long  their  provisions  would 
last,  and  in  general  much  talk  about  tlieir  chances. 

"Not  a  shine  of  a  lookout  for  gittin'  back  to  the  Casa?"  queried  Captain 
Glover.  "  Knowed  it,"  he  added,  when  the  lieutenant  sadly  shook  his  head 
"  Fool  for  talkin-  'bout  it.     How  'bout  reachin'  the  trail  to  the  Moqui  couulry  ? " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  day,"  said  Thurstane.  "  We  must  oive  it  up 
Every  one  of  the  branch  canons  on  the  other  bank  trends  wron<r.  We  couldn't 
cross  them  ;  we  should  have  to  follow  them  ;  ii's  an  impassable  hell  of  a  coun- 
try. We  might  by  bare  chance  reach  the  Moqui  pueblos  ;  but  the  probability 
IS  that  we  should  die  in  the  desert  of  thirst.  We  shall  have  to  run  the  river 
Perliaps  we  shall  have  to  run  the  Colorado  too.  If  so,  we  had  better  keep  on  to 
Diamond  creek,  and  from  there  push  by  land  to  Cactus  Pass.  Cactus  Pass  is  on 
the  trail,  and  we  may  meet  emigrants  there.  I  don't  know  what  better  to  sug- 
gest." * 

"Dessay  it's  a  tiptop  idee,"  assented  Glover  cheeringly.  "Anyhow,  if  we 
take  on  down  the  river,  it  seems  like  follyin'  the  guidings  of  Providence  " 

In  spue  of  their  strange  situation  and  doubtful  prospects,  the  three  adven- 
turers  slept  early  and  soundly.  When  they  awoke  it  was  daybreak,  and  after 
chewing  the  hardest,  dryest,  and  rawest  of  breakfasts,  thev  began  their  prepara- 
tions to  reach  the  river.  To  eflfect  this,  it  was  necessary 'to  find  a  cleft  in  the 
ledge  where  they  could  fasten  a  cord  securely,  and  below  it  a  footing  at  the 
water's  edge  where  they  could  put  their  boat  together  and  launch  it.  It  would 
not  do  to  go  far  down  the  canon,  for  the  bed  of  the  stream  descended  while  the 
shelf  retained  its  level,  and  the  distance  between  them  was  already  sufficiently 
alarming.  After  an  anxious  search  they  discovered  a  bowlder  lyin-  in  the  river 
beneath  the  shelf,  with  a  flat  surface  perfectly  suited  to  their  purpose.  There 
too,  was  a  cleft,  but  a  miserably  small  one.  ' 

"We  can't  jam  a  cord  in  that,"  said  Glover;  "nor  the  handle  of  a  paddle 
nuther."  '■ 

"  It  '11  howld  me  bagonet,"  suggested  Sweenv. 
_      "  It  can  be  made  to  hold  it,"  decided  Thurst'ane.     "  We  must  d.  ill  away  till 
It  does  hold  it."  •' 

^  An  hour's  labor  enabled  them  to  insert  the  bayonet  to  the  handle  and  wed^e 
It  with  spikes  split  ort  from  the  precious  wood  of  the  paddles.  When  it  seemed 
firm  enough  to  support  a  strong  lateral  ,,ressure.  Glover  knotted  on  to  it  in  his 
deft  sailor  fashion,  a  strip  of  the  horse  hide,  and  added  others  to  that  until  he 
h.ad  a  cord  of  some  forty  feet.  After' testing  every  inch  and  every  knot,  he  said: 
"  who  starts  first .''' 

"  I  will  try  it,"  answered  Thurstane. 

"Lightest  first,  I  reckon,"  obsei  ved  Glover. 

Sweeny  looked  at  the  precipice,  skipped  about  the  shelf  uneasilv,  made  a 
struggle  with  his  fears,  and  asked,  »  Will  ye  let  me  down  aisy  ?  " 

"Jest  's  easy  's  rollin'  off  a  log." 


132  OVERLAND 

"That's  aisy  enough.  It's  the  lightin'  that's  har-rd.  If  it  comes  to  rowlin' 
down.  I'll  let  ye  have  the  first  rowl.     I've  no  moiiicl  to  git  ahead  of  nie  betthers. 

"  Try  it,  my  lad,"  said  Thurstane.     "The  real  danger  comes  with  the  last 
man.     He  will  have  to  trust  to  the  bayonet  alone." 
"An'  what'U  I  do  whin  I  get  down  there  ?" 

"Take  the  traps  off  the  cord  as  we  send  them  down,  and  pile  them  on  the 
rock." 

"  I'm  o.T,"  said  Sweeny,  after  one  more  look  into  the  chasm.  While  the 
others  held  the  cord  to  keep  the  strain  from  coming  on  the  bayonet,  he  gripped 
it  with  both  hands,  edged  stern  foremost  over  the  precipice,  and  slipped  rapidly 
to  the  bowlder,  whence  he  sent  up  a  hoot  of  exultation.  The  cord  was  drawn 
back  ;  the  boat  was  made  up  in  two  bundles,  which  were  lowered  in  succession  ; 
then  the  provisions,  paddles,  arms,  etc.  Now  came  the  question  whether  Thur- 
stane or  Glover  should  remain  last  on  the  ledge. 

"  Lightest  last,"  said  the  lean  skipper.     "  Stands  to  reason." 
"  It's  my  duty  to  take  the  hot  end  of  tlie  poker,"  replied  the  officer. 
"Loser  goes  first,"  said  Glover,  producing  a  copper.     "  Heads  or  tails  ?" 
"Heads,"  guessed  Thurstane. 

"  It's  a  tail.     Catch  hold,  Capm.     Slow  'n'  easy  tili  you  get  over." 
The  cord  holding  firm,  Thurstane  reached  the  bowlder,  and  was  presently 
joined  by  Glover. 

"  Liftinant,  I  want  me  bagonet,"  cried  Sweeny.     "  Will  I  go  up  afther  it  ?" 
"  How  the  dickens  'd  you  git  down  again  ?  "  asked  Glover.     "  Guess  you'l' 
have  to  leave  your  bayonet  where  it  sticks.     But,  Capm,  we  want  that  line 
Can't  you  shute  it  away,  clost  by  th'  edge  ?" 

The  third  shot  was  a  lucky  one,  and  brought  down  the  precious  cord.  Then 
came  the  work  of  putting  the  boat  into  shape,  launcliing  it,  getting  in  the  stores, 
and  lastly  the  voyagers. 

"  Tight  's  a  drum  yit,"  observed  Glover,  surveying  the  coracle  admiringly. 
"  Fust  time  I  ever  sailed  on  canvas.  .  Great  notion.  Don't  draw  more'n  three 
inches.  Might  sail  acrost  country  with  it.  Capm,  it's  the  only  boat  ever  in- 
vented that  could  git  down  this  blasted  river." 

Glover  and  Sweeny,  two  of  the  most  talkative  creatures  on  earth,  chattered 
much  to  each  other.  Tluustane  sometimes  listened  to  them,  sometimes  lost 
himself  in  reveries  about  Clara,  sometimes  surveyed  the  scenery  of  the  canon. 

The  abyss  was  always  the  same,  yet  with  colossal  variety  :  here  and  there 
yawnings  of  veined  precipices,  followed  by  cavernous  closings  of  the  awful  sides  ; 
breakings  in  of  subsidiary  canons,  some  narrow  clefts,  and  others  gaping  shat- 
tered mouths  ;  the  walls  now  presenting  long  lines  of  rampart,  and  now  a  suc- 
cession of  peaks.  But  still,  although  they  had  now  traversed  the  chasm  for 
seventy  or  eighty  miles,  they  found  no  close  and  no  declension  to  its  solemn 
grandeur. 

At  last  came  another  menace,  a  murmur  deeper  and  hoarser  than  that  of  the 
rapid,  steadilv  swelling  as  they  advanced  until  it  was  a  continuous  thunder. 
This  time  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  they  were  entering  upon  a  scene  of  yet 
undecided  battle  between  the  eternal  assault  of  the  river  and  the  immemorial  re- 
sistance of  the  mountains. 

The  quickening  speed  of  the  waters,  and  the  ceaseless  bellow  of  their  charg- 
ing trumpets  as  they  tore  into  some  yet  unseen  abyss,  announced  one  of  thosa 
struggles  of  nature  in  which  man  must  be  a  spectator  or  a  victim. 


OVERLAND.  133 


CIIAI'TER    XXVII. 


As  Tluirst.ine  .-ippioaclied  the  catanicf  of  the  San  Juan  he  thought  of  tha 
rapids  above  Niagara,  arul  of  llie  men  who  had  been  whirled  down  them,  foresee- 
ing their  fate  and  struggling  against  it,  but  unable  to  escape  it. 

"  We  must  keep  near  one  wall  or  the  oihor,"  he  said.  "  The  middle  of  the 
river  is  sure  death." 

I'addling  toward  tlie  northern  liank,  simply  because  it  had  saved  them  in 
their  former  peril,  they  floated  like  a  leaf  in  the  shadows  of  the  precipices,  watch- 
ing for  some  footway  by  which  to  turn  the  lair  of  the  monster  ahead. 

The  scenery  here  did  not  consist  exclusively  of  two  lofty  ramparts  fronting 
each  other.  Before  the  river  had  established  its  present  channel  it  had  tried  the 
strength  of  the  plateau  in  various  directions,  .slashing  the  upper  strata  into  a  suc- 
cession of  cailons,  which  were  now  lofty  and  arid  gullies,  divided  from  each  other 
by  every  conceivable  form  of  rocky  ruin.  Rotundas,  amphitheatres,  castellated 
walls,  cathedrals  of  unparalleled  immensity,  facades  of  palaces  huge  enough  to 
be  the  abodes  of  the  principalities  and  powers  of  the  air,  far-stretching  sem- 
blances of  cities  tottering  to  destruction,  all  fashions  of  domes,  towers,  minarets, 
spires,  and  obelisks,  with  a  population  of  missiiapen  demons  and  monsters, 
looked  down  from  sublime  heights  upon  the  voyagers.  At  every  turn  in  the 
river  the  panorama  changed,  and  they  beheld  new  marvels  of  this  Titanic  archi- 
tecture. There  was  no  end  to  the  gigantic  and  grotesque  variety  of  the  com- 
mingling outlines.  The  vasfness,  the  loneliness,  tiie  stillness,  the  twilight  som- 
breness,  were  awful.  And  through  all  reverberated  incessantly  the  defiant  cla- 
rion of  the  cataract. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  that  early  death  which  it  has  always  had  and  must 
always  have  in  these  abysses.  Knowing  how  suddenly  darkness  would  fall,  and 
not  daring  to  attempt  the  unknown  without  light,  the  travellers  looked  for  a 
mooring  spot.  There  was  a  grim  abutment  at  least  eighteen  hundred  feet  high  ; 
at  its  base  two  rocks,  which  had  tumbled  ages  ago  from  the  summit,  formed  a 
rude  brcikwater;  and  on  this  barrier  had  collected  a  bed  of  coarse  pebbles, 
strewn  with  driftwood.  Here  they  stopped  their  flight,  unloaded  the  boat  and 
beached  it.  The  drift-wood  furnished  them  a  softer  bed  than  usual,  and  mate- 
rials for  a  fire. 

Night  supervened  with  the  suddenness  of  a  death  which  has  been  looked  for, 
but  which  is  at  last  a  surprise.  Shadow  after  shadow  crept  down  tlie  walls  of 
the  chasm,  blurred  its  projections,  darkened  its  faces,  and  crowded  its  recesses. 
The  line  of  skj',  seen  through  the  jagged  and  sinuous  opening  above,  changed 
slowly  to  gloom  and  then  to  blackness.  There  was  no  light  in  this  rocky  intes- 
tine of  the  earth  except  the  red  flicker  of  the  camp-fire.  It  fought  feebly  with 
the  powers  of  darkness  ;  it  sent  tremulous  despairing  flashes  athwart  the  swift 
ebony  river  ;  it  reached  out  with  momentary  gleams  to  the  nearer  facades  of 
precipice  ;  it  reeled,  drooped,  and  shuddered  as  if  in  hopeless  horror.  Proba- 
bly, since  the  world  began,  no  other  fire  lighted  by  man  had  struggled  against 
the  gloom  of  this  tremendous  amphitheatre.  The  darknesses  were  astonished  at 
it,  but  they  were  also  uncomprehending  and  hostile.  They  refused  to  be  dis- 
sipated, and  they  were  victorious. 

After  two  hours  a  change  came  upon  the  scene.  The  moon  rose,  filled  the 
upper  air  with  its  radiance,  and  bathed  in  silver  the  slo])es  of  the  mountains. 
The  narrow  belt  of  visible  sky  resembled  a  milky  way.     The  light  continued  to 


J  34  OVERLAND. 

descend  and  work  miracles.  Isolated  turrets,  domes,  and  pinnacles  came  ou\ 
in  gleaming  relief  against  the  dark-blue  background  of  the  heavens.  The  oppo- 
site crest  of  the  canon  shone  with  a  broad  illumination.  All  the  uncouth  de- 
mons and  monsters  of  the  rocks  awoke,  glaring  and  blinking,  to  menace  the  voy* 
agers  in  the  depths  below.  The  contrast  between  this  supereminent  brilliancy 
and  the  sullen  obscurity  of  the  subterranean  river  made  the  latter  seem  more 
than  ever  like  Styx  or  Acheron. 

The  travellers  were  awakened  in  the  morning  by  the  trumpetings  of  the  cat- 
aract. They  embarked  and  dropped  down  the  stream,  hugging  the  northern 
rampart  and  watching  anxiously.  Presently  there  was  a  clear  sweep  of  a  mile  ; 
the  clamor  now  came  straight  up  to  them  with  redoubled  vehemence  ;  a  ghost 
of  spray  arose  and  waved  tl>reateningly,  as  if  forbidding  further  passage.  It 
was  the  roar  and  smoke  of  an  artillery  which  had  thunderevi  for  ages,  and  would 
tliunder  for  ages  to  come.  It  was  a  voice  and  signal  which  summoned  reinforce- 
ments of  waters,  and  in  obedience  to  which  the  waters  charged  eternally. 

The  boat  had  shudders.  Every  spasm  jerked  it  onward  a  little  faster.  It 
flew  with  a  tremulous  speed  which  was  terrible.  Thurstane,  a  good  soldier,  able 
to  obey  as  well  as  to  direct,  knowing  that  if  Glover  could  not  steer  wisely  no  one 
could,  sat,  paddle  in  hand,  awaiting  orders.  Sweeny  fidgeted,  looked  from  one 
to  another,  looked  at  the  mist  ahead,  cringed,  wanted  to  speak,  and  said  noth- 
ing. Glover,  working  hard  with  his  paddle,  and  just  barely  keeping  the  coracle 
bows  on,  peered  and  grinned  as  if  he  were  facing  a  hurricane.  There  was  no 
time  to  have  a  care  for  sunken  bowlders,  reaching  up  to  rend  the  thin  bottom. 
The  one  giant  danger  of  the  cataract  was  enough  to  fill  the  mind  and  bar  out 
every  minor  terror.  Its  deafening  threats  demanded  the  whole  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Compared  with  the  probability  of  plunging  down  an  unknown  depth  into 
a  boiling  hell  of  waters,  all  other  peril  seemed  too  trifling  to  attract  notice.  SucK 
a  fate  is  an  enhancement  of  the  horrors  of  death. 

"  Liflinant,  let's  go  over  with  a  whoop,"  called  Sweeny.     "  It's  much  aisier." 

"  Keep  quiet,  my  lad,"  replied  the  officer.     "  We  must  hear  orders." 

"  All  right,  Liftinant,"  said  Sweeny,  relieved  by  having  spoken. 

At  this  moment  Glover  shouted  cheerfully,  "  We  ain't  dead  yit.  There's  a 
ledge." 

"  I  see  it,"  nodded  Tliurstane. 

"Where  there's  a  ledge  there's  an  eddy,"  screamed  Glover,  raising  liis  voice 
to  pierce  the  hiss  of  the  rapid  and  the  roar  of  the  cascade. 

Below  them,  jutting  out  from  the  precipitous  northern  bank,  was  a  low  bar 
of  rock  over  which  the  river  did  not  sweep.  It  was  the  remnant  of  a  once  lofty 
barrier  ;  the  waters  had,  as  it  were,  gnawed  it  to  the  bone,  but  they  had  net  de- 
stroved  it.  In  two  minutes  the  voyagers  were  beside  it,  paddling  with  all  their 
sirength  against  the  eddy  which  whirled  along  its  edge  toward  the  cataract,  and 
tossing  over  the  short,  spiteful  ripples  raised  by  the  sudden  turn  of  the  current. 
With  a  "  Hooroo  !  "  Sweeny  tumbled  ashore,  lariat  in  hand,  and  struck  his  army 
shoes  into  the  crevices  of  the  shattered  sandstone.  In  five  minutes  more  the 
boat  was  unloaded  and  lifted  upon  the  ledge. 

The  travellers  did  not  go  to  look  at  the  cataract ;  their  immediate  and  ur- 
gent need  was  to  get  by  it.  Making  up  their  bundles  as  usual,  they  commenced 
a  struggle  with  the  intricacies  and  obstacles  of  the  portage.  The  eroded,  disin- 
tegrated plateau  descended  to  the  river  in  a  huge  confusion  of  ruin,  and  tliey  had 
to  pick  their  way  for  miles  through  a  labyrinth  of  cliffs,  needles,  towers,  and 
bowlders.     Reaching  the  river  once  more,  they  found  themselves  upon  a  little 


OVERLAND,  135 

plain  of  moderately  fertile  earth,  the  first  plain  and  the  first  earth  which  they  had 
seen  since  entering  the  caRon.  Tlie  cataract  was  invisible  ;  a  rock  cathedral 
several  hundred  I'cet  hi^hhidit;  they  could  scarcely  discern  its  lofty  ghost  of 
spray. 

Two  miles  away,  in  the  middle  of  the  plain,  appeared  a  ruin  of  adobe  walls, 
guttereil  and  tissured  by  the  weatlier.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  monument  of  that 
partially  civilized  race,  Aztec,  Toltec,  or  Moqui,  which  centuries  ago  dotted  tlie 
American  desert  with  cities,  and  passed  away  without  leaving  other  record. 
With  his  tield-gl.iss  Tluirstane  discovered  what  he  juilged  to  be  another  similar 
siruclure  crowning  a  distant  butte.  They  had  no  time  to  visit  these  remains, 
and  they  resumed  tiieir  voyage. 

After  skirting  the  plain  lor  several  miles,  they  reentered  the  cafion,  drifted 
two  hours  or  more  bSfween  its  solemn  walls,  and  then  came  out  upon  a  wide 
sweep  of  open  countr)'.  The  great  cafion  of  the  San  Juan  had  been  traversed 
nearly  from  end  to  end  in  safety.  When  the  adventurers  realized  their  triumph 
they  rose  to  their  feet  and  gave  nine  hurrahs. 

"  It's  loike  a  rich  man  comin'  through  the  03'e  av  a  needle,"  observed 
Sweeny. 

"Only  this  haint  much  the  air  'f  tlie  New  Jerusalem,"  returned  Glover, 
glancing  at  the  arid  waste  of  buttes  and  ranges  in  the  distance. 

"Weoughter  look  up  some  huntin',"  he  continued.  "Locker  '11  begin  to 
show  bottom  b'fore  long.     Sween}',  wouldn't  you  like  to  kill  suthiu  ?" 

"  I'd  like  to  kill  a  pig,"  said  Sweeny. 

"  Wal,  guess  we'll  probably  come  acrost  one.  They's  a  kind  o(  pigs  in  these 
deestricks  putty  nigh's  long  's  this  boat." 

"There  ain't,"  returned  Sweeny. 

"Call  'em  grizzlies  wlien  they  call  'em  at  all,"  pursued  the  sly  Glover. 

"They  may  call  'em  what  they  plaze  if  they  won't  call  'em  as  long  as  this 
boat." 

r  Fortune  so  man.Tged  tilings,  byway  of  carrying  out  Glover's  joke,  that  a  huge 
grizzly  just  then  showed  himself  on  the  bank,  some  two  hundred  yards  below  the 
boat. 

After  easily  slaughtering  one  bear,  the  travellers  had  a  far  more  interesting 
season  with  another,  who  was  allured  to  the  scene  by  the  smell  of  jerking  meat, 
and  who  gave  them  a  very  lively  half  hour  of  it,  it  being  hard  to  say  which  was 
\   the  most  hunted,  the  bruin  or  the  humans. 

"  Look  a'  that  now  !  "  groaned  Sweeny,  when  tlie  victory  had  been  secured. 
"The  baste  has  chawed  up  me  gun  barrl  loike  it  was  a  plug  o'  tobacky." 

"Throw  it  away,"  ordered  Thurstane,  after  inspecting  the  twisted  and  lacer- 
ated musket. 

Tenderly  and  tearfully  Sweeny  laid  aside  the  first  gun  that  he  had  ever  car- 
ried, went  again  and  again  to  look  at  its  mangled  form  as  if  it  were  a  dead  rela- 
tive, and  in  the  end  raised  a  little  mnusoleum  of  cobble-stones  over  it. 

'•  If  there  was  any  whiskey,  I'd  give  um  a  wake,"  he  sighed.  "  I'm  a  pratty 
soldier  now,  without  a  gun  to  me  back." 

"  I'll  let  ye  carry  mine  when  we  come  to  foot  i*.,"  suggested  Glover. 

"Yis,  an'  ye  may  carry  me  part  av  the  boat,"  retorted  Sweeny. 

j  The  bear  meat  was  tough  and  musky,  but  it  could  be  eaten,  must  be  eaten, 

and  was  eaten.     During  the  time  required  for  jerking  a  quantity  of  it,  (Clover 

made  a  boat  out  of  the  two  hides,  scraping  them  with  a  hunting  knife,  sewing 

them  with  a  sailor's  needle  and  strands  of  the  sounding-line,  and  stretching  them 


I3G  OVERLAND. 

on  a  frame  of  green  saplings,  the  result  being  a  craft  six  feet  long  by  nearly  four 
broad,  and  about  the  shape  of  a  half  walnut-shell.     The  long  hair  was  left  on,  as 
a  protection  against  the  rocks  of  the  river,  and  the  seams  were  filled  and  plas- 
I    tared  with  bear's  grease. 

"It's  a  miglity  bad-sinellin'  thing,"  remarked  Sweeny.  "An  who's  goin'  to 
back  it  over  the  portages  ? " 

"Robinson  Crusoe!"  exclaimed  Glover.  "I  never  thought  of  that,  WaJ, 
let's  see.  Ob,  we  kin  tow  her  astarn  in  plain  sailin',  'n'  when  we  come  to  a  cat- 
aract we  can  put  Sweeny  in  an'  let  her  slide." 

"  No  ye  can't,"  said  Sweeny.  "  It's  big  enough,  an'  yet  it  won't  howld  nm, 
no  more'n  a  ta)  spoon  'II  howld  a  flay." 

"Wal,  we  kin  let  her  slide  without  a  crew,  'n'  pick  her  up  arterwards,"  de- 
cided Glover.  "^ 
r  We  must  hasten  over  the  minor  events  of  this  remarkable  journey.  The 
travellers,  towing  the  bearskin  boat  behind  the  Buchanan,  passed  the  mouth  of 
Canon  Bonito,  and  soon  afterward  beheld  the  San  Juan  swallowed  up  in  the 
Grand  River,  a  far  larger  stream  which  rises  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  east  of 
Utah.  They  swept  by  tlie  horrible  country  of  the  Utes  and  Payoches,  without 
holding  intercourse  with  its  squalid  and  savage  inhabitants.  Here  and  there,  at 
the  foot  of  some  monstrous  precipice,  in  a  profound  recess  surrounded  by  a 
frenzy  of  rocks,  they  saw  hamlets  of  a  few  miserable  wigwams,  with  patches  of 
starveling  corn  and  beans.  Sharp  wild  cries,  like  tlie  calls  of  malicious  brown- 
ies, or  the  shrieks  of  condemned  spirits,  were  sent  after  them,  without  obtaining 
I   response. 

"  They  bees  only  naygurs,"  observed  Sweeny.  "  Niver  moind  their  blaggard 
ways." 

After  the  confluence  with  the  Grand  River  came  solitude.  The  land  had 
^een  sv/ept  and  garnished:  swept  by  tlie  waters  and  garnished  with  horrors;  a 
fand  of  cations,  plateaux,  and  ranges,  all  arid  ;  a  land  of  desolation  and  the  shad- 
ow of  death.  There  was  nothing  on  which  man  or  beast  could  support  life; 
nature's  power  of  renovation  was  for  the  time  suspended,  and  seemed  extinct. 
It  was  a  desert  which  nothing  could  restore  to  fruitfuiness  except  the  slow  mys- 
terious forces  of  a  geologic  revolution. 

Beyond  the  Sierra  de  Lanterna  the  Grand  River  was  joined  by  the  Green 
River,  streaming  down  through  gullied  plateaux  from  tlie  deserts  of  Utah  and 
the  mountains  which  tower  between  Oregon  and  Nebraska.  Henceforward,  still 
.ocked  in  Titanic  defiles  or  flanked  by  Cyclopean  debris,  they  were  on  the  Colo- 
rado of  the  West. 

Thurstane  meditated  as  to  what  course  he  should  follow.  .Should  he  strike 
southward  by  land  for  the  Bernalillo  trail,  risking  a  march  through  a  wide, 
rocky,  lifeless,  and  perhaps  waterless  wilderness  ?  Or  should  he  attempt  to  de- 
scend a  river  even  more  terrible  to  navigate  than  the  San  Juan  ?  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  hardships  and  dangers  of  eitlier  ])lan  were  about  the  same. 

But  the  Colorado  route  would  he  the  swiftest  ;  the  Colorado  would  take  him 
quickest  to  Clara.  For  he  trusted  that  she  had  long  before  this  got  back  to  the 
Moqui  country  and  resumed  her  journey  across  the  continent.  He  could  not  re- 
ally fear  that  any  deadly  harm  would  befall  her.  He  had  the  firmnes.'-:.  of  a  sol- 
dier and  the  faith  of  a  lover. 
Y  At  last,  silently  and  solemnly,  through  a  portal  thousands  of  feet  in  height, 
the  voyagers  glided  into  the  perilous  mystery  of  the  Great  Cauon  of  the  Color* 
1   do,  the  most  sublime  and  terrible  waterway  of  this  planet. 


OVERLAND.  187 


ClIAI'TER  XXVIII. 

Thurstane  had  strange  emotions  as  lie  swept  into  tlie  "caverns  measure- 
less to  man  "  of  the  Great  Cafion  of  the  Colorado. 

It  seemed  like  a  push  of  destiny  rather  than  a  step  of  volition.  An  angel  or 
a  demon  impelled  him  into  the  unknown  ;  a  supernatural  portal  had  opened  to 
give  him  passage  ;  then  it  had  closed  behind  him  forever, 
r  The  canon,  with  all  its  two  hundred  and  forty  miles  of  marvels  and  perils, 
presented  itself  to  his  imagination  as  a  unity.  The  first  step  within  it  placed 
him  under  an  enchantment  from  which  there  was  no  escape  until  the  whole  cir- 
cuit of  the  spell  should  be  completed.  He  was  like  Orlando  in  the  magic  gar- 
den, when  the  gate  vanished  immediately  upon  his  entrance,  leaving  him  no 
choice  but  to  press  on  from  trial  to  trial.  He  was  no  more  free  to  pause  or  turn 
iiack  than  Grecian  jrhosts  sailing  down  Acheron  toward  the  throne  of  R.idaman- 
[_^t!uis. 

Direct  statement,  and  even  the  higher  speech  of  simile,  fail  to  describe  the 
Great  Cafion  and  the  emotion  which  it  produces.  Were  its  fronting  precipices 
organs,  witli  tlieir  mountainous  columns  and  pilasters  for  organ-pipes,  they 
might  produce  a  de  profundis  worthy  of  the  scene  and  of  its  sentiments,  its  in- 
spiration. This  is  not  bombast ;  so  far  from  exaggerating  it  does  not  even 
attain  to  the  subject ;  ho  words  can  so  much  as  outline  the  effects  of  eighty 
leagues  of  mountain  sculptured  by  a  great  river. 
I  Let  us  venture  one  comparison.  Imagine  a  groove  a  foot  broad  and  twenty 
feet  deep,  with  a  runnel  of  water  trickling  at  the  bottom  of  it  and  a  fieck  of  dust 
floating  down  the  rivulet.  Now  increase  the  dimensions  until  the  groove  is  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feel  in  breadth  by  five  thousand  feet  in  depth,  and  the  speck  a 
boat  with  three  voyagers.  You  have  the  Great  Canon  of  the  Colorado  and 
I    Thurstane  and  his  comrades  seeking  its  issue. 

"  Do  you  call  this  a  counthry  ?  "  asked  Sweeny,  after  an  awe-stricken  silence. 
•'  I'm  thiiikin'  we're  gittin'  outside  av  the  worrld  like." 

"An'    I'm    thinkin'    we're   gittin'  too    fur    inside   on't,"   muttered    Glover. 

"  Look's  's  though  we  might  slip  clean  under  afore  long.     Most  low-spirited  hole 

I  ever  rolled  into.     'Minds  me  'f  that  last  ditch  people  talk  of  dyin'  in.     Must 

say  I'd  rather  be  in  the  trough  'f  the  sea." 

Y       "An'  what  kind  av  a  trough  is  tiiat?"  inquired  Sweeny,  inquisitive  even  in 

\»is  dumps. 
I "  It's  the  trough  where  they  feed  the  niggers  out  to  the  sharks." 

"  Faix,  an'  I'd  loike  to  see  it  at  feedin'  time,"  answered  Sweeny  with  a  fee- 
ble chuckle, 
r  Nature  as  it  is  is  one  image  ;  nature  as  it  appears  is  a  thousand  ;  or  rather  it 
is  infinite.  Every  soul  is  a  mirror,  reflecting  what  faces  it ;  but  the  reflections 
differ  as  do  the  souls  that  give  them.  To  the  three  men  wlio  now  gazed  on  the 
Great  Canon  it  was  far  from  being  t'ne  same  object. 

Sweeny  surveyed  it  as  an  old  Greek  or  Roman  might,  with  simple  distaste 
and  horror.  Glover,  ignorant  and  limited  as  he  was,  received  far  more  of  its  in- 
•piration.     Even  while  "chirking  up"  his  companions  with  trivial  talk  and  jests 


133  OVERLAND. 

he  was  in  his  secret  sonl  thinking  of  Bimj'an's  Dark  Valley  and  Millon's  Hell, 
the  two  sublimest  landscapes  that  had  ever  been  presented  to  his  imagination. 
Thurstane,  gifted  with  much  of  the  sympathy  of  the  great  Teutonic  race  for  na- 
ture, was  far  more  profoundly  affected.  The  overshadowing  altitudes  and  ma- 
jesties of  the  chasm  moved  him  as  might  oratorios  or  other  solemn  music. 
Frequently  he  forgot  hardships,  dangers,  isolation,  the  hard  luck  of  the  past,  the 
ugly  prospects  of  the  future  in  reveries  which  were  a  succession  of  such  emo» 
tions  as  wonder,  worship,  and  love. 

No  doubt  the  scenery  had  the  more  power  over  him  because,  by  gazing  at  it 
day  after  day  while  his  heart  was  full  of  Clara,  he  got  into  a  way  of  animating 
it  with  her.  Far  away  as  she  was,  and  divided  from  him  perhaps  forever,  she 
haunted  the  canon,  transformed  it  and  gave  it  grace.  He  could  see  her  face 
everywhere;  he  could  see  it  even  without  shutting  his  eyes  ;  it  made  the  arro- 
gant and  malignant  clift's  seraphic.  By  the  way,  the  vividness  of  his  memory 
with  regard  to  that  fair,  sweet,  girlish  countenance  was  wonderful,  only  that  suih 
a  memory,  the  memory  of  the  heart,  is  common.  There  was  not  one  of  iier  ex- 
preesions  which  was  not  his  property.  Each  and  all,  he  could  call  them  up  al 
.  will,  making  them  pass  before  him  in  heavenly  procession,  surrounding  himself 
U  with  angels.  It  was  the  power  of  the  ring  which  is  given  to  the  slaves  of  Icve 
'  He  had  some  vagaries  (the  vagaries  of  those  who  are  subjugated  by  a  stronjj 

and  permanent  emotion)  which  approached  insanity.  For  instance,  he  selected 
a  gigantic  column  of  sandstone  as  bearing  some  resemblance  to  Clara,  and  sc 
identified  it  with  her  that  presently  he  could  see  her  face  crowning  it,  tliough 
concealed  by  the  similitude  of  a  rocky  veil.  This  image  took  such  possession 
of  him  that  he  watched  it  with  fascination,  and  when  a  monstrous  clitT  slid  be- 
tween it  and  him  he  felt  as  if  here  were  a  new  parting  ;  as  if  he  were  once  more 
L  bidding  her  a  speechless,  hopeless  farewell. 

During  the  greater  part  of  this  voyage  he  was  a  very  uninteresting  compan- 
ion. He  sat  quiet  and  silent;  sometimes  he  slightly  moved  his  lips;  he  was 
v/hispering  a  name.  Glover  and  Sweeny,  who  had  only  known  him  for  a  month, 
and  supposed  that  he  had  always  been  what  they  saw  him,  considered  him  an 
eccentric. 

*' Naterally  not  quite  himself,"  judged  the  skipper.  "Some  folks  is  born 
knocked  on  the  head." 

"  May  be  officers  is  always  that  a  way."  was  one  of  Sweeny's  suggestions, 
*'  It  must  be  mighty  dull  bein'  an  officer." 

We  must  not  forget  the  Great  Canon.  The  voyagers  were  amid  magnitudes 
and  sublimities  of  nature  which  oppressed  as  if  they  were  powers  and  principali- 
ties of  supernature.  They  were  borne  through  an  architecture  of  aqueous  and 
pUitonic  agencies  whose  smallest  fantasies  would  be  belittled  by  comparisons 
with  coliseums,  labyrinths,  cathedrals,  pryamids,  and  sfonehenges. 

For  example,  they  circled  a  bend  of  which  the  extreme  delicate  angle  was  a 
jutting  pilaster  five  hundred  feet  broad  and  a  mile  high,  its  he»id  towering  in  a 
sharp  tiara  far  above  the  brow  of  the  plateau,  and  its  sides  curved  into  extrava- 
gances of  dizzy  horror.  It  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  a  pillar  of  confinement  and 
punishment  for  some  Afreet  who  had  defied  Heaven.  On  either  side  of  this 
monster  fissures  a  thousand  feet  deep  wrinkled  the  forehead  of  the  precipice. 
Armies  might  have  been  buried  in  tlieir  abysses  ;  yet  they  scarcely  deformed  the 
line  of  the  summits.  Tliey  ran  back  for  many  miles  ;  they  had  once  been  the 
channels  of  streams  which  helped  to  drain  the  plateau  ;  yet  they  were  merely 
superficial  cracks  in  the  huge  mass  of  sandstone  and  limestone;  they  were 
scarcely  notice.ible  features  of  the  Titanic  landscape. 


OVERLAND.  139 

From  this  bend  forward  tlie  beauty  of  the  cafion  was  sublime,  horrible, 
Satanic.  Constantly  varyinj^,  its  transformations  were  like  those  of  tlie  chief 
amon^  demons,  in  that  they  were  always  indescribably  magnificent  and  al- 
ways indescribably  terrible.  Now  it  was  a  straight,  clean  chasm  between  even 
hedges  of  clitT  whicli  left  open  only  a  narrow  line  of  the  beauty  and  mercy  of  the 
heavens.  Again,  where  it  was  entered  by  minor  caflons,  it  Became  a  breach 
through  crowded  pandemoniums  of  ruined  architectures  and  forsaken,  frowning 
imageries.  Then  it  led  between  enormous  pilasters,  columns,  and  caryatides, 
mitred  with  conical  peaks  which  had  once  been  ranges  of  mountains.  Jullings 
an.l  elevations,  which  would  have  been  monstrous  in  otlier  landscapes,  were 
here  but  minor  decorations. 
I  Something  like  half  of  the  strata  with  which  earth  is  sheatlied  has  been  cut 
througli  by  the  Colorado,  beginning  at  the  top  of  the  groove  with  luindreds  of 
feet  of  limestone,  and  closing  at  the  bottom  with  a  thousand  feet  of  granite. 
Here,  too,  as  in  many  other  wonder-spots  of  the  American  desert,  nature's  sculp- 
ture is  rivalled  by  her  painting.  Bluish-gray  limestone,  containing  corals  ;  mot- 
tled limestone,  c'.iarged  with  slates,  flint,  and  chalcedony  ;  red,  brown,  and  blue 
limestone,  mixed  with  red,  green,  and  yellow  shales;  sandstone  of  all  tints, 
white,  brown,  ochry,  dark  red,  speckled  and  foliated;  coarse  silicious  sand- 
stone, and  red  quartzose  sandstone  beautifully  veined  wiili  purpie  ;  layers 
of  conglomerate,  of  many  colored  shales,  argillaceous  iron,  and  black  oxide 
manganese  ;  massive  black  and  white  granite,  traversed  by  streaks  of  quartz 
and  of  red  sienite  ;  coarse  red  felspathic  granite,  mixed  with  large  plates  of  sil- 
L>'er  mica  ;  such  is  the  masonry  and  such  the  frescoing. 

Through  this  marvellous  museum  our  three  spectators  wandered  in  hourly 
peril  of  death.  The  Atreets  of  the  water&and  the  Afreets  of  the  rocks,  guard- 
ing the  gateway  which  they  had  jointly  builded,  waged  incessant  warfare  with 
tlie  intruders.  Although  the  current  ran  five  miles  an  hour,  it  was  a  lucky  day 
when  the  boat  made  forty  miles.  Every  evening  the  travellers  must  find  a 
beach  or  shelf  where  tliey  could  haul  up  for  the  night.  Darkness  covered  de- 
struction, and  light  exposed  dangers.  The  bubble-like  nature  of  the  boat  af- 
ford6d  at  once  a  possibility  of  easy  advance  and  of  instantaneous  foundering. 
Every  hour  that  it  floated  was  a  miracle,  and  so  they  grimly  and  patiently  un- 
derstood it. 

A  tew  days  in  the  cafion  changed  the  countenances  of  these  men.  They 
looked  like  veterans  of  many  battles.  There  was  no  bravado  in  their  faces. 
The  expression  wliich  lived  there  was  a  resigned,  suffering,  stubl)orn  courage. 
It  was  the  "silent  berserker  rage"  which  Carlyle  praises.  It  was  the  speech- 
less endurance  which  you  see  in  portraits  of  the  Great  Frederick,  Wtllington, 
and  Grant. 

They  relieved  each  other.  The  bow  was  guard  duty;  the  steering  was  light 
duty  ;  tlie  midships  off  duty.  It  must  be  understood  that,  the  great  danger  being 
sunken  rocks,  one  man  always  crouched  in  the  bow,  with  a  paddle  plunged  be- 
low the  surface,  feeling  for  ambushes  of  the  stony  bushwhackers.  Occasionally 
all  three  had  to  labor,  jumping  into  shallows,  lifting  the  boat  over  beds  of  peb- 
bles, perhaps  liglitening  it  of  arms  and  provisions,  perhaps  carrying  .all  ashore 
to  seek  a  portage. 

"  It's  the  best  canew  'n'  the  wust  canew  I  ever  see  for  sech  a  voyage,"  ob- 
served Glover.  "  Navigatin'  in  it  puts  me  in  mind  'f  angels  settin*  on  a  cloud, 
The  cloud  can  go  anywhere  ;  but  what  if  ye  should  slump  through  ?  " 

"  Och  !  ye're  a  heretic,  'n'  don't  belave  angels  can  fly,"  put  in  Sv.eeny. 


liO  OVERLAND. 

"  Can't  ye  talk  without  takin'  out  yer  paddle?"  called  Glover.  "Mindyer 
soundings." 

Glover  was  at  the  helm  just  then,  while  Sweeny  was  at  the  bow.  Thurslar.e, 
sitting  cross-legged  on  the  light  wooden  flooring  of  the  boat,  was  entering  topo- 
graphical observations  in  his  journal.  Hearing  the  skipper's  warning,  he  looked 
up  sharply  ;  but  both  the  call  and  the  glance  came  too  late  to  prevent  a  catas- 
trophe. Just  in  that  instant  the  boat  caught  against  some  obstacle,  turned 
slowly  around  before  the  push  of  the  current,  swung  loose  with  a  jerk  and  floated 
on,  the  water  bubbling  through  the  flooring.  A  hole  had  been  torn  in  the  can- 
vas, and  the  cockle-sliell  was  foundering. 

"Sound!"  shouted  Thurstane  to  Sweeny;  then,  turning  to  Glover,  "Haul 
up  the  Grizzly  !  " 

The  tub-boat  of  bearskin  was  dragged  alongside,  and  Thurstane  instantly 
threw  the  provisions  and  arms  into  it. 

"Three  foot,"  squealed  Sween}-. 

"Jump  overboard,"  ordered  the  lieutenant. 

By  tiie  time  the}'  were  on  their  feet  in  the  water  the  Buchanan  was  half  full, 
and  the  swift  current  was  pulling  at  it  like  a  giant,  while  the  Grizzly,  floatinof 
deep,  was  almost  equally  unmanageable.  The  situation  had  in  one  minute 
changed  from  tranquil  voyaging  to  deadly  peril.  Sweeny,  unable  to  swim,  and 
staggering  in  the  rapid,  made  a  plunge  at  tlie  bearskin  boat,  probably  with  an 
idea  of  getting  into  it.  But  Thurstane,  all  himself  from  the  first,  shouted  In  that 
brazen  voice  of  military  command  which  is  so  secure  of  obedience,  "Steady, 
man  !  Don't  climb  in.  Cut  the  lariat  close  up  to  the  Buchanan,  and  then  hold 
on  to  the  Grizzly." 

Restored  to  his  self-possession,  S\<'eeny  laboriously  wound  the  straining  lariat 
around  his  left  arm  and  sawed  it  in  two  with  his  jagged  pocket-knife.  Then 
came  a  doubtful  fight  between  him  and  the  Colorado  for  the  possession  of  the 
heavy  and  clumsy  tub. 

Meantime  Thurstane  and  Glover,  the  former  at  the  bow  and  the  latter  at  the 
stern  of  the  Buchanan,  were  engaged  in  a  similar  tussle,  just  barely  holding  on 
and  no  more. 

"We  can't  stand  this,"  said  the  officer.    ."We  must  empty  her." 

"Jest  so,"  panted  Glover.  "You're  up  stream.  Can  you  raise  your  eend  ? 
We  mustn't  capsize  her  ;  we  might  lose  the  flooring." 

Thurstane  stooped  slowly  and  cautiously  until  he  had  got  his  shoulder  under 
the  bow. 

"  Easy  !"  called  Glover.  "Awful  easy!  Don't  break  her  back.  Don't  up)- 
set  ///t'." 

Gently,  deliberately,  with  the  utmost  care,  Thurstane  straightened  himself 
until  he  had  lifted  the  bow  of  the  boat  clear  of  the  current. 

"Now  I'll  hoist,"  said  tiie  skipper.  "You  turn  her  slowl}- — jest  the  least 
mite.     Don't  capsize  her." 

It  was  a  Herculean  struggle.  There  was  still  a  ponderous  weight  of  water 
in  the  boat.  The  slight  frame  sagged  and  the  flexible  siding  bulged.  Glover 
with  difficulty  kept  his  feet,  and  he  could  only  lift  the  stern  very  slightly. 

"You  can't  do  it,"  decided  Thurstane.  "  Don't  wear  yourself  out  trying  it. 
Hold  steady  where  you  are,  while  I  let  down." 

When  the  boat  was  restored  to  its  level  it  floated  higher  than  before,  for  some 
ef  the  water  had  drained  out. 

"  Now  lift  slowly,"  directed  Thurstane.  "Slow  and  sure.  She'll  clear  little 
by  little." 


OVERLAND.  141 

A  quiet,  steady  lift,  Listing  peiljaps  two  or  three  minutes,  brouglit  the  flooi 
of  the  boat  to  the  surface  of  tlie  current. 

"  It's  wearing,"  said  tlie  lieutenant,  cheering  his  worried  fellow-laborer  with 
a  smile.  "Stand  steady  for  a  minute  and  try  to  rest.  You,  Sweeny,  move  in 
toward  the  bank.  Hold  on  to  your  boat  like  the  devil.  If  the  water  deepens, 
sing  out." 

Sweeny,  gripping  his  lariat  desperately,  commenced  a  staggering  march  over 
the  cobble-stone  bottom,  his  anxious  nose  pointed  toward  a  beach  of  bowlders 
beneath  the  southern  precipice. 

*•  Now  then,"  said  Tliurstane  to  Glover,  "  we  must  get  her  on  our  heads  and 
follow  Sweeny.     Are  you  ready  ?     Up  witli  her  !  " 

A  long,  reeling  hoist  set  the  Buchanan  on  the  heads  of  the  two  men,  one 
standing  under  the  bow  and  one  under  tlie  stern,  their  arms  extended  and  tlieir 
hands  clutching  the  sides.  The  beach  was  forty  yards  away;  the  current  was 
swift  and  as  opaque  as  chocolate  ;  they  could  not  see  what  depths  might  gape 
before  them  ;  but  they  must  do  the  distance  without  falling,  or  perish. 

*'  Left  foot  first,"  sliouted  tlie  officer.     "  Forward — march  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

When  the  adventurers  commenced  their  tottering  march  toward  the  shore 
of  the  Colorado,  Sweeny,  dragging  the  clumsy  bearskin  boat,  was  a  few  yards  in 
advance  of  Thurstane  and  Glover,  bearing  the  canvas  boat. 

Every  one  of  the  three  had  as  much  as  he  could  handle.  The  Grizzly,  pulled 
at  by  the  furious  current,  bobbed  up  and  down  and  hither  and  thither,  nearly 
capsizing  Sweeny  at  every  other  step.  The  Buchanan,  weighing  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  when  dry,  and  now  somewhat  heavier  because  of  its  thorough 
wetting,  made  a  heavy  load  for  two  men  who  were  hip  deep  in  swift  water. 

"  Slow  and  sure,"  repeated  Thurstane.  "  It's  a  five  minutes  job.  Keep  your 
courage  and  your  feet  for  five  minutes.     Then  we'll  live  a  hundred  years." 

"Liflinant,  is  this  soldierin'?"  squealed  Sweeny. 

"Yes,  my  man,  this  is  soldiering." 

"Thin  I'll  do  me  dooty  if  I  pull  me  arrms  off." 

But  there  was  not  much  talking.  Pretty  nearly  all  their  breath  was  needed 
for  the  fight  with  the  river.  Glover,  a  slender  and  narrow-shouldered  creature, 
v/as  particularly  distressed  ;  and  his  only  remark  during  the  pilgrimage  shore 
ward  was,  "  I'd  like  to  change  bosses." 

Sweeny,  leading  the  way,  got  up  to  his  waist  once  and  yelled,  "  I'll  drown." 

Then  he  backed  a  little,  took  a  new  direction,  found  shallower  water,  and  fOi 
tied  onward  to  victory.     The   moment   he   reached    tiie  shore   he  gave  a  shrill 
hoot  of  exultation,  went  at  his  bearskin  craft  with  both  hands,  dragged  it  clean 
out  of  the  water,  and  gave  it  a  couple  of  furious  kicks. 

*'Take  that!  "he  yelped.  "  Ye're  wickeder  nor  both  yer  fathers.  But  Pve 
bate  ye.     Oh,  ye  blatherin',  jerkin',  bogglin'  baste,  ye  !  " 

Then  he  splashed  into  the  river,  joined  his  hard-pressed  comrades,  got  his 
head  under  the  centre  of  the  Buchanan,  and  lifted  sturdily.  In  another  minute 
the  precious  burden  was  safe  on  a  large  flat  rock,  and  the  three  men  were 
stretched  out  panting  beside  it.  Glover  was  used  up;  he  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot  with  fatigue;  he  had  reached  shore  just  in  time  to  fall  o"  it  instead 
of  into  the  river, 

"Ye'd  make  a  purty  soldier,"  scofTed  Sweeny,  a  habitual  chaffer,  like  most 
Irishmen. 


342  OVERLAND. 

"  It  was  the  histin'  that  busted  me,"  gasped  tlie  skipper.  "  I  can  t  handle  a 
ton  o'  water." 

"Godamighty  made  ye  already  busted,  I'm  a  thinkin',''  retorted  Sweeny. 

As  soon  as  Glover  could  rise  he  examined  the  Buchanan.  There  was  a 
ragged  rent  in  the  bottom  four  inches  long,  and  the  canvas  in  other  places  had 
been  badly  rubbed.  The  voyagers  looked  at  the  hole,  looked  at  tiie  horrible 
chasm  which  locked  them  in,  and  thought  with  a  sudden  despair  of  the  great  en- 
vironment of  desert, 
r^  The  situation  could  hardly  be  more  gloomy.     Having  voyaged  for  five  days 

in  the  Great  Caiion,  they  were  entaiigied  in  the  very  centre  of  the  folds  of  that 
(^  monstrous  anaconda.  Their  fooling  was  a  lap  of  level  not  more  than  thirty 
yards  in  length  by  ten  in  breadth,  strewn  with  pebbles  and  bowlders,  and  sliow- 
ing  not  one  spire  of  vegetation.  Above  them  rose  a  precipice,  the  summit  of 
which  tliey  could  not  see,  but  wliich  was  undoubtedly  a  mile  in  height.  Had 
there  been  armies  or  cities  over  tlieir  heads,  thty  could  not  have  discovered  it 
by  either  eye  or  ear. 
r  At  tlieir  feet  was  tiie  Colorado,  a  broad  rush  of  liquid  porphyry,  swift  and 

pitiless.  By  its  color  and  its  air  of  stoical  cruelty  it  put  one  in  mind  of  tiie  red 
race  of  America,  from  whose  desert  mountains  it  came  and  through  whose  wil- 
dernesses it  hurried.  On  the  other  side  of  this  grim  current  rose  precipices  five 
thousand  feet  high,  stretching  to  riglit  and  left  as  far  as  the  eye  could  pierce. 
Certainly  never  before  did  shipwrecked  men  gaze  upon  such  imprisoning  immen- 
l^_  sity  and  inhospitable  sterility. 

Directly  opposite  them  was  horrible  magnificence.  The  face  of  the  fronting 
rampart  was  gashed  a  mile  deep  t^y  the  gorge  of  a  subsidiary  caiion.  The  fissure 
was  not  a  clean  one,  with  even  sides.  The  strata  had  been  torn,  ground,  and 
tattered  by  the  river,  which  had  first  raged  over  them  and  then  through  them.  It 
was  a  Petra  of  ruins,  painted  with  all  stony  colors,  and  sculptured  into  a  million 
outlines.  On  one  of  the  boldest  abutments  of  the  ravine  perched  an  enchanted 
cas'le  with  towers  and  spires  hundreds  of  feet  in  heiglit.  Opposite,  but  further 
up  the  gap,  rose  a  rounded  mountain-head  of  solid  sandstone  and  limestone. 
Still  higher  and  more  retired,  towering  as  if  to  look  into  the  distant  canon  of  the 
Colorado,  ran  the  enormous  terrace  of  one  of  the  loftier  plateaus,  its  broad,  bald 
foreliead  wrinkled  with  furrows  that  liad  once  held  cataracts.  But  language  has 
1  no  charm  which  can  master  these  sublimities  and  horrors.  It  stammers  ;  it  re- 
peats  the  same  words  over  and  over;  it  can  only  />i_i^/u  to  tell  the  monstrous 
(^  truth. 

"  Looks  like  we  was  in  our  grave,"  sighed  Glover. 

"Liftinant,"  jerked  out  Sweeny,  "I'm  thinkin'  we're  dead.     We  ain't  livin 
Liftinant.     We've  been  buried.     We've  no  business  trying  to  walk.'^ 

Thurstane  had  the  same  sense  of  profound  depression  ;  but  he  called  up  his 
courage  and  sought  to  cheer  his  comrades. 

"We  must  do  our  best  to  come  to  life,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Glover,  can  nothing 
be  done  with  the  boat  ?  " 

"Can't  fix  it,"  replied  the  skipper,  fingering  the  ragged  hole.  "Nolhin'  to 
patch  it  with." 

"  There  are  the  bearskins,"  suggested  Thurstane. 

Glover  slapped  his  thigh,  got  up,  danced  a  double-shufile,  and  sat  down  again 
to  consider  his  job.  After  a  full  minute  Sweeny  caught  the  idea  also  and  set  up 
a  haw-haw  of  exultant  laughter,  which  brought  back  echoes  from  the  other  sid« 
of  the  caiion,  as  if  a  thousand  Paddies  were  holding  revel  there. 


r 


OVERLAND.  143 

"Oh  !  3ees  may  l.iu^Ii,''  retorted  Sweeny,  "but  yees  can't  laugh  us  out  av  it." 

"  I'll  sheath  the  whole  bottom  with  bearskin,"  said  Glover.  "  Tiien  we  can 
let  her  grind.     It'll  be  an  all  day's  chore,  Capm — perhaps  two  days." 

They  passed  thirty-six  hours  in  this  miserable  bivouac.  Glover  worked 
during;  every  moment  of  daylight.  No  one  else  could  do  anything.  A  green 
hantl  might  break  a  needle,  and  a  needle  broken  was  a  step  toward  death. 
From  dawn  to  dusk  he  planned,  cut,  punctured,  and  sewed  with  the  patience  of 
.111  oKl  sailor,  until  he  hul  covered  the  rent  with  a  patch  of  bearskin  which  titted 
as  it'  it  had  grown  there.  Fin.\ily  the  whole  bottom  was  doubled  with  hide,  the 
long,  coarse  fur  still  on  it,  and  the  grain  running  from  stem  to  stern  so  as  to  aid 
/in  sliding  over  the  sand  and  pebbles  of  the  shallows. 

While  Glover  worked  the  others  slept,  lounged,  cooked,  waited.  There  was 
no  food,  by  the  way,  but  the  hard,  leathery,  tasteless  jerked  meat  of  the  grizzlv 
bears,  which  had  begun  to  pall  upon  them  so  they  could  hardly  swallow  it 
Eating  was  merely  a  duty,  and  a  disagreeable  one. 

When  Glover  announced  that  the  boat  was  ready  for  l.uincliing,  Sweeny  ut- 
tered a  yelp  of  joy,  like  a  dog  who  sees  a  prospect  ol  hunting. 

"All,  you  paddywhack!"  growled  the  skipper.  "All  this  work  for  you. 
Punch  another  hole,  'n'  I'll  take  yer  own  hide  to  patch  it." 

"  I'll  give  ye  lave,"  returned  Sweeny.  "Wan  bare  skin  's  good  as  another. 
Only  1  might  want  me  own  back  agin  for  dress-parade." 

Once  more  on  the  Colorado.  Although  the  boat  floated  deeper  than  before, 
navigation  in  it  was  undoubtedly  safer,  so  that  tliey  made  bolder  ventures  and 
swifter  progress.  Such  portages,  however,  as  th.ey  were  still  obliged  to  traverse, 
were  very  severe,  inasmuch  as  the  Buchanan  was  now  much  above  its  original 
weigiit.  Several  times  they  had  to  carry  one  half  of  their  materials  for  a  mile  or 
more,  through  a  labyrinth  of  rocks,  and  then  trudge  back  to  get  the  other  half. 

Meantime  their  power  of  endurance  was  diminishing.  The  frequent  wet- 
tings, the  shivering  nights,  the  great  changes  of  temperature,  the  stale  and 
wretched  food,  the  constant  anxiety,  were  sapping  their  health  and  strength. 
On  the  tenth  d.iy  of  their  wanderings  in  the  Great  Canon  Glover  began  to  com- 
plain of  rheumatism. 

"These  cussed  draiiglits  !  "  he  groaned.  "It's  jest  like  travellin' in  a  bel- 
lows nozzle." 

"Widthe  divil  himself  at  the  bellys,"  added  Sweeny.  "  Faix,  an'  I  wish 
he'd  blow  us  clane  out  intirely.  I'm  gittin'  tired  o'  this  same,  I  am.  I  didn't 
lisht  to  sarve  undher  ground." 

"Patience,  Sweeny,"  smiled  Thurstane.  "We  must  be  nearly  througli  the 
caiion." 

"An' where  will  we  come  out,  Lifdnant  ?  Is  it  in  Ameriky  ?  Bedad,  we 
ought  to  be  close  to  the  Chaynees  liy  this  time.  Liflinant,  what  sort  o'  paple 
lives  up  atop  of  us,  annyway  .''" 

"  I  don't  suppose  anybody  lives  up  there,"  replied  the  officer,  raising  his  eyes 
to  th.e  dizzy  precipices  above.     "  This  whole  region  is  said  to  be  a  desert." 

"  Be  gorry,  an'  it  '11  stay  a  desert  till  the  ind  o'  the  worrld  afore  I'll  j^oppylate 
it.  It  wasn't  made  for  Sweenys.  I  haven't  seen  sile  enough  in  tin  days  to  raise 
wan  pataty.  As  for  livin'  on  dried  grizzly,  I'd  like  betther  for  the  grizzlies  to 
live  on  me.  Liftinant,  I  niver  see  sich  harrd  atin'.  It  tires  the  top  av  me  head 
off  to  chew  it." 

About  noon  of  the  twelfth  day  in  the  Great  Cafion  this  perilous  and  sul^Iime 
navigation  came  to  a  close.     The  walls  of  the  chasm  suddenly  spread  out  into  a 


i44  OVERLAND. 

considerable  openinp^,  which  absolutely  seemed  level  ground  to  the  vcyagers,  al- 
though it  was  encumbered  with  mounds  or  buttes  of  granite  and  sandstone. 
This  opening  was  produced  by  the  entrance  into  the  main  cliannel  of  a  subsidiary 
one,  coming  from  the  south.  At  first  they  did  not  observe  furliier  particuh\rs, 
for  they  were  in  extreme  danger  of  shipwreck,  the  river  being  studded  with  rocks 
and  running  like  a  mill-race.  But  on  reaching  the  quieter  water  below  the  rapid, 
they  saw  that  the  branch  caflon  contained  a  rivulet,  and  that  where  the  two 
streams  united  there  was  a  triangular  basin,  offering  a  safe  harbor. 

"Paddle!"  shouted  Thurstane,  pointing  to  the  creek.  "Don't  let  her  go 
by.     This  is  our  place." 

A  desperate  struggle  dragged  the  boat  out  of  the  rushing  Colorado  into  the 
tranquillity  of  the  basin.  Everything  was  landed  ;  the  boat  itself  was  hoisted  on 
to  the  rocks  ;  the  voyage  was  over. 

"Tiiiuk  ye  know  yer  way,  Capni  ?"  queried  Glover,  squinting  doubtfully  up 
the  arid  recesses  of  the  smaller  canon. 

"Of  course  I  maybe  mistaken.  But  even  if  it  is  not  Diamond  Creek,  it  will 
take  us  in  our  direction.  We  have  made  westing  enough  to  have  the  Cactus 
Pass  very  nearly  south  of  us." 

As  there  was  still  a  chance  of  returning  to  the  river,  the  boat  was  taken  to 
pieces,  rolled  up,  and  hidden  under  a  pile  of  stones  and  driftwood.  The  small 
remnant  of  jerked  meat  was  divided  into  three  portions.  Glover,  on  account 
of  his  inferior  muscle  and  his  rheumatism,  was  relieved  of  his  gun,  which  was 
given  to  Sweeny.  Canteens  were  filled,  blankets  slung,  ammunition  bells 
buckled,  and  the  march  commenced. 

Arrived  at  a  rocky  knoll  which  looked  up  both  waterways,  the  three  men 
halted  to  take  a  last  glance  at  the  Great  Cailoii,  tlie  scene  of  a  pilgrimage  that 
had  been  a  poem,  though  a  terrible  one.  The  Colorado  here  was  not  more  than 
fifty  yards  wide,  and  only  a  few  hundred  yards  of  its  course  were  visible  either 
way,  for  the  confluence  was  at  the  apex  of  a  bend.  Tiie  dark,  sullen,  hopeless, 
cruel  current  rushed  out  of  one  mountain-built  mystery  into  another.  The  walls 
of  the  abyss  rose  straight  from  the  water  into  dizzy  abutments,  conical  peaks, 
and  rounded  masses,  beyond  and  above  v/liich  gleamed  tiie  distant  sunlit  walls 
of  a  higher  terrace  of  the  plateau. 

"  Come  along  wid  ye,"  said  Sweeny  to  Glover,  "  It's  enough  to  give  ye  the 
rheumatiz  in  the  oyes  to  luk  at  the  nasty  black  hole.  I'm  thinkin'  it's  the 
divil's  own  place,  wid  the  fires  out." 

The  Diamond  Creek  Canon,  althougli  far  inferior  to  its  giant  neighbor,  was 
nevertheless  a  wonderful  excavation,  striking  audaciously  into  sombre  mountain 
recesses,  sublime  with  precipices,  peaks,  and  grotesque  masses.  The  footing 
was  of  the  ruggedest,  a  debris  of  confused  and  eroded  rocks,  the  pathway  of  an 
extinct  river.  One  thing  was  beautiful:  the  creek  was  a  perfect  contrast  to  the 
turbid  Colorado  ;  its  waters  were  as  clear  and  bright  as  crystal.  Sweeny  halted 
over  and  over  to  look  at  it,  his  mouth  open  and  eyes  twinkling  like  a  pleased 
dog. 

"An' there's  nothing  nagurish  about  that,  now,"  he  chuckled.  "A  pataty 
ud  laugh  to  be  biled  in  :t." 

After  slowly  ascending  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  they  turned  a  bend  and  came 
upon  a  scene  which  seemed  to  them  like  a  garden.  They  were  in  a  broad  open- 
ing, made  by  the  confluence  of  two  caflons.  Into  this  gigantic  rocky  nest  had 
been  dropped  an  oasis  of  turf  and  of  thickets  of  green  willows.  Through  the 
centre  of  the  verdure  the  Diamond  Creek  flowed  dimpling  over  a  pebbly  bed, 


OVERLAxND.  I45 

or  shot  in  sparkles  between  barring  bowlders,  or  plunged  over  shelves  in  toy 
cascades.  Tlie  travellers  had  seen  nothing  so  hospitable  in  nature  since  leavin" 
the  country  of  the  Moquis  weeks  before. 

Sweeny  scroametl  like  a  delighted  child.  "  Oh  !  an'  that's  just  like  ould 
Oirland.  Oil,  luk  at  the  turrf!  D'ye  iver  see  the  loikes  o' that,  now  ?  The 
blessed  turrf!  Here  ye  be,  right  in  the  divil's  own  garden.  Liftiaant,  if  ye'll 
let  me  build  a  fort  here,  I'll  garrison  it.  I'll  stay  here  nie  wiiole  term  of  sarvice." 
"  Halt,"  said  Tluirstane.  "We'll  eat,  refill  canteens,  and  inspect  arms.  If 
this  is  Diamond  Cafton,  and  I  tliink  there  is  no  doubt  of  it,  we  may  expect  to 
find  Indians  soon." 

"  I'll  fight  'em,"  declared  Sweeny.     "  An'  if  they've  got  anylhin'  belther  nor 
dried  grizzly,  I'll  have  it." 

"  Wait  for  orders,"  cautioned  Thurstane.  "  No  firing  without  orders." 
After  cleaning  their  guns  and  chewing  their  tough  and  stale  rations,  they  re- 
sumed their  march,  leaving  the  rivulet  and  following  the  canon,  which  led  toward 
the  southwest.  As  they  were  now  regaining  the  level  of  the  plateau,  their  ad- 
vance was  a  constant  and  difficult  ascent,  sometimes  struggling  throuo-li 
labyrinths  of  detached  rocks,  and  sometimes  climbing  steep  shelves  which  had 
once  been  th.e  leaping-places  of  cataracts.  The  sides  of  the  chasm  were  twe 
thousand  feet  high,  and  it  was  entered  by  branch  ravines  of  equal  "randeur. 

The  sun  had  set  for  them,  although  he  was  still  high  al)ove  tlie  horizon  of 
upper  earth,  wiien  Thurstane  halted  and  whispered,  "  Wigwams  !  " 

Perched  among  the  rocks,  some  under  projecting  strata  and  otliers  in  sha- 
dowy niches  between  huge  buttresses,  they  discovered  at  first  three  or  four,  llien 
a  dozen,  and  finally  twenty  wretclied  cabins.  Tliey  scarcely  saw  before  they 
were  seen  ;  a  hideous  old  squaw  dropped  a  bundle  of  fuel  and  ran  ofl'screeciiino  ; 
in  a  moment  the  whole  den  was  in  an  uproar.  Startling  yells  burst  from  lofty 
nooks  in  the  mountain  flanks,  and  scarecrow  figures  dodged  from  ambush  to  am- 
bush of  the  sombre  gully.  It  was  as  if  they  had  invaded  the  haunts  of  the 
brownies, 
r  The  Hualpais,  a  spscies  of  Digger  Indians,  dwarfish,  miserable,  and  degraded, 
living  mostly  on  roots,  lizards,  and  ihe  like,  were  nevertheless  conscious  of 
scalps  to  save.  In  five  minutes  from  the  discovery  of  tlie  strangers  tliey  had 
formed  a  straggling  line  of  battle,  squatting  along  a  ledge  which  crossed  the 
canon.  There  were  not  twenty  warriors,  and  they  were  no  doubt  wretchedly 
armed,  but  their  position  was  formidable. 

Sweeny,  looking  like  an  angry  rat,  his  nose  twitching  and  eyes  sparkling  with 
rage,  offered  to  storm  the  rampart  alone,  shouting,  "  Oh,  the  nast\-,  lousy 
nagurs  !     Let  'em  get  out  of  our  way." 

"Guess  we'd  better  talk  to  the  cusses,"  observed  Glover.  "Tain't  the 
handiest  place  I  ever  see  for  fightin' ;  an'  I  don't  keer  'bout  havin'  my  ears  'n' 
nose  bored  any  more  at  present." 

"  Slay  where  you  are,"  said  Thurstane.  "  I'll  go  forward  and  parley  with 
them." 


L 


CHAPTER   X.XX. 

Thurstane  had  no  great  difficulty  in  making  a  sort  of  let-me-alone-and-I'Il. 
let-you-alone  treaty  with  the  embattled  Hualpais. 

After  some  minutes  of  dumb  show  they  came  down  from   their  stronghold 


146  OVERLAxND. 

and  dispersed  to  their  dwellings.  Tliey  seemed  to  be  utterly  without  curios- 
(  ity ;  the  warriors  put  aside  their  bows  and  lay  down  to  sleep ;  the  old  squaw 
hurried  off  to  pick  up  her  bundle  of  fuel ;  even  the  papooses  were  silent  and 
stupid.  It  was  a  race  lower  than  the  Hottentots  or  the  Australians.  Short, 
meagre,  badly  built,  excessively  ugly,  they  were  nearly  naked,  and  tlieir  slight 
clotliing  was  rags  of  skins.  Thurstane  tried  to  buy  food  of  them,  but  either 
they  had  none  to  spare  or  his  buttons  seemed  to  them  of  no  value.     Nor  could 

fhe  induce  any  one  to  accompany  him  as  a  guide. 
"  Do  ye  think  Godamiglity  made  thim  paple  ?"  inquired  Sweeny. 

"  Reckon  so,"  replied  Glover. 

"I  don't  belave  it,"  said  Sweeny.  "He'd  be  in  more  rispactable  bizniss. 
It's  me  opinyin  the  divil  made  urn  for  a  joke  on  tlie  rest  av  us.  An'  it's  me 
opinyin  he  made  this  whole  counthry  for  the  same  rayson." 

"  The  priest  '11  tell  ye  God  made  all  men.  Sweeny." 

"Theyain"t  min  at  all.  Thim  crachurs  ain't  min.  Tliey're  nagurs,  an'  a 
mighty  poor  kind  at  that.  I  hate  um.  I  wish  they  was  all  dead.  I've  kilt 
some  av  um,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  kill  slathers  more,  God  willin'.  I  belave  it's  part 
av  the  bizniss  av  white  min  to  finish  offjh^ejia^urs." 

~~Profound  and  potent  sentiment  of  race  antipathy  !     Tlie  contempt  and  hatred 

of  white  men  for  yellow,  red,  brown,  and  black  men  has  worked  all  over  earth, 

is  working  yet,  and  will  work  for  ages.     It  is  a  motive  of  that  tremendous  tragedy 

which  SpeiKgi^has  entitled  "  the  Turvival  of  the  fittest,''  and  Darwin,  "  natural 

1 selection." 

Tlie  party  continued  to  ascend  the  caiion.  At  short  intervals  branchxaiions 
exhibited  arid  and  precipitous  gorges,  more  and  more  gloomy  with  twilight.  It 
was  impossible  to  choose  between  one  and  another.  Tlie  travellers  could  never 
see  three  hundred  yards  in  advance.  To  right  and  left  they  were  hemmed  in  by 
walls  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  height.  Only  one  thing  v.'as  certain  :  these  alti- 
tudes were  gradually  diminishing  ;  and  hence  they  knew  that  they  were  mount- 
ing the  plateau.  At  last,  four  hours  after  leaving  Diamond  Creek,  wearied  to 
the  marrow  with  incessant  toil,  tiiey  halted  by  a  little  spring,  stretched  themselves 
on  a  scrap  of  starveling  grass,  and  chewed  their  meagre,  musty  supper. 

The  scenery  here  was  unearthly.  Barring  the  bit  of  turf  and  a  few  willows 
which  had  got  lost  in  the  desert,  there  was  not  a  tint  of  verdure.  To  right  and 
left  rose  two  huge  and  steep  slopes  of  eroded  and  ragged  rocks,  tortured  into  every 
conceivable  form  of  jag,  spire,  pinnacle,  and  imagery.  In  general  the  figures 
were  grotesque  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  misshapen  gods  of  India  and  of  Ciiina  and 
of  barbarous  lands  had  gathered  there;  as  if  tiiis  were  a  jjlace  of  banishment 
and  punishment  for  the  fallen  idols  of  all  idolatries.  A'oove  this  coliseum  of 
monstrosities  rose  a  long  line  of  sharp,  jagged  needles,  like  a  vast  cJicvaux-de- 
frise,  forbidding  escape.  Still  higher,  lighted  even  yet  by  the  setting  sun,  tow- 
ered five  cones  of  vast  proportions.  Then  came  cliffs  capped  by  shatters  of 
tableland,  and  then  the  long,  even,  gleaming  ledge  of  the  final  plateau. 

Locked  in  tiiis  bedlam  of  crazed  strata,  unable  to  see  or  guess  a  way  out  of 
it,  the  wanderers  fell  asleep.  There  was  no  setting  of  guards  ;  they  trusted  to 
the  desert  as  a  sentinel. 

At  daylight  the  blind  and  wearisome  climbing  recommenced.  Occasionally 
they  found  patches  of  thin  turf  and  clumps  of  dwarf  cedars  struggling  with  the 
rocky  waste.  These  bits  of  greenery  were  not  the  harbingers  of  a  new  empire 
of  vegetation,  but  the  remnants  of  one  whose  glory  had  vanished  ages  ago,  swept 
away  by  a  vandalism  of  waters.     Gradually  the  canon  dwindled  to  a  ravine,  nar- 


OVERLAND.  147 

row  sinuOUs,  waliod  in  by  stony  steeps  or  slopes,  and  interlocking  continually 
with  otFicr  similar  ch-^ms.  A  creek,  which  followed  the  chasm,  appeared  and 
disappeared  at  iiUei  vais  of  a  mile  or  so,  as  if  horrified  at  the  face  of  nature  and 
anxious  to  hiile  from  it  in  subterranean  recesses. 

Tlie  travellers  stumbled  on  until  the  ravine  became  a  gully  and  the  gully  a 
fi.-.suie.  They  stepped  out  of  it  ;  they  were  on  the  rolling  surface  of  the  table- 
land ;  they  were  half  a  mile  above  the  Colorado. 

Here  they  halted,  gave  three  cheers,  and  then  looked  back  upon  the  north- 
ern desert  as  men  look  who  have  escaped  an  enemy.  A  gigantic  panorama  of 
the  country  which  they  had  traversed  was  unrolled  to  their  vision.  In  the  fore- 
ground stretched  declining  tablelands,  intersected  by  numberless  ravines,  and 
beyond  llie.se  a  lofly  line  of  bluffs  marked  the  edge  of  the  Great  Canon  of  tlie 
Colorado.  Through  one  wide  gap  in  these  heights  came  a  vision  of  endless 
plateaux,  their  terraces  towering  one  above  another  until  they  were  thousands 
of  feet  in  the  air,  the  horizontal  azure  bands  extending  hundreds  of  miles  north- 
ward, until  the  deep  Wue  f<\ded  into  a  liglitcr  blue,  and  that  into  the  sapphire  of 
llie  heavens. 

•'  It  looks  a  darned  sight  finer  than  it  is,"  observed  Glover. 

"  Bedad,  ye  may  say  that,"  added  Sweeny.  "It's  a  big  liippycrit  av  a 
counthry.     Ye'd  think,  to  luk  at  it,  ye  could  ate  it  wid  a  spoon." 

Now  came  a  rolling  region,  covered  with  blue  grass  and  dotted  with  groves 
of  cedars,  the  earth  generally  hard  and  smooth  and  the  marching  easy.  Strik- 
ing southward,  they  reached  a  point  where  the  pl.iteau  culminated  in  a  low  ridge, 
and  -saw  before  tliem  a  long  gentle  slope  often  -.liles,  tlien  a  system  of  rounded 
hills,  and  then  mountains. 

*'  Halt  here,"  said  Thurstane.  "  We  must  study  our  topography  and  fix  on 
our  line  of  march." 

"You'll  hev  to  figger  it,"  lepHed  Glover.  "I  don't  know  nothin'  in  this 
part  o'  the  world." 

"Ye  ain't  called  on  to  know,"  put  in  Sweeny.     "  The  liflinant  '11  tell  ye." 

"I  think,"  hesitated  Thurstane,  "that  we  are  about  fifty  miles  north  of 
Cactus  Pass,  where  we  want  to  strike  the  trail." 

"And  I'm  putty  nigh  played  out,"  groaned  Glover. 

"  Och  !  you  howld  up  yer  crazy  head,"  exhorted  Sweenj'.  "  It  '11  do  ye  iver 
so  much  good." 

"  It's  easy  talkin',"  sighed  the  jaded  and  rheumatic  skipper. 

"  It's  as  aisy  talkin' right  as  talkin' wrong,"  retorted  Sweenj'.  "  Ye've  no 
call  to  grunt  the  curritch  out  av  yer  betthers.     Wait  till  the  liftinant  says  die." 

Thurstane  was  studying  the  landscape.  Which  of  those  ranges  was  the 
Cerbat,  which  the  Aztec,  and  which  the  Pinaleva?  He  knew  that,  after  leaving 
Cactus  Pass,  the  overland  trail  turns  southward  and  runs  toward  the  mouth  of 
the  Gila,  crossing  the  Colorado  hundreds  of  miles  away.  To  the  west  of  the 
pass,  therefore,  he  must  not  strike,  under  peril  of  starving  amid  untracked 
plains  and  ranges.  On  the  whole,  it  seemed  probable  that  the  snow-capped  line 
of  summits  directly  ahead  of  him  was  the  Cerbat  range,  and  that  he  must  follow 
it  southward  along  the  base  of  its  eastern  slope. 

"  We  will  move  on,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Glover,  we  must  reach  those  broken 
hills  before  night  in  order  to  find  water.     Can  you  do  it .''" 

"  Reckon  I  kin  jest  about  do  it,  's  the  feller  said  when  he  walked  to  his  own 
hangin',"  returned  the  suffering  skipper. 

The  failing  man  marched  so  slowly  and  needed  so  many  halts  tnat  they  were 


143  OVERLAND. 

live  hours  in  reaching  the  hiils.  It  was  now  nightkill  ;  they  found  a  l)right  little 
spring  in  a  grassy  ravine  ;  and  after  a  meagre  supper,  tliey  tried  to  slifie  theif 
hunger  with  sleep.  Tliurstane  and  Sweeny  took  turns  in  watching,  for  smoke 
of  fires  had  been  seen  on  the  mountains,  and,  poor  as  tliey  were,  tliey  could  not 
afford  to  be  robbed.  In  the  morning  Glover  seemed  refreshed,  and  started  oul 
with  some  vigor. 

'•  Och  !  ye'll  go  round  the  worrld,"  said  Sweeny,  encouragingly.  "Bones 
can  march  furder  than  fat  anny  day.  Ycr  as  tough  as  me  rations.  Dried 
grizzly  is  nothin'  to  ye." 

After  threading   hills  for  hours  they  came  out  upon   a  wide,  rolling  basin. 

prettily  diversified  by  low  spurs  of  tlie  encircling  mountains  and  blui.sh  green 

with   the  long  grasses   known   as  pin  and  grama.     A  few  deer  and  antelopes, 

I    bounding  across  the  rockier   places,  were  an  aggravation   to  starving  men  who 

could  not  follow  them. 

"  Why  don't  we  catch  some  o'  thim  fiyin'  cracliurs?"  demanded  Sweeny. 

"  We  hain't  got  no  salt  lo  put  on  their  tails,"  explained  Glover,  grinning  more 
/      with  pain  than  with  his  joke. 

"  I'd  ate  'em  widout  salt,"  said  Sweeny.  "  If  the  tails  was  feathers,  I'd  ate 
'em." 

"  We  must  camp  early,  and  try  our  luck  at  hunting,"  observed  Ihurstane. 

"I  go  for  campin'  airly,"  groaned  the  limping  and  tottering  Glover. 

"  Och  !  yees  ud  like  to  shlape  an  shnore  an'  grunt  and  rowl  over  an'  shnore 
agin  th^whole  blissid  time,"  snapped  Sweeny,  always  angered  by  a  word  of  dis- 
couragement. "  Yees  ought  to  have  a  dozen  o'  thim  nagurs  wid  their  long 
poles  to  make  a  fither  bed  for  yees  an'  tuck  up  the  blankets  an'  spat  the  pilly. 
Why  didn't  ye  shlape  all  ye  wanted  to  whin  yees  was  in  the  boat?" 
I  "Quietly,   Sweeny,"  remonstrated  Thurstane.     "Mr.  Glover  marches  with 

great  pain." 

"  I've  no  objiclion  to  his  marchin'  wid  great  pain  or  annyway  Godamighty 
lets  him,  if  he  won't  grunt  about  it." 

"  But  you  must  be  civil,  my  man." 

"  I  ax  yer  pardon,  Liftinnnt.     I  don't  mane  no  harrum  by  blatherin'.     It's  a 
L_,way  we  have  in  th'  ould  counthry.     i\Iebl)e  it's  no  good  in  th'  arrmy." 

"Let  him  yawp,  Capm,"  interposed  Glover.  "It's  a  way  they  hev,  as  he 
says.  Never  see  two  Paddies  together  but  what  they  got  to  fightin'  or  pokin' 
fun  at  each  other.  Me  an'  Sweeny  won't  quarrel.  I  take  his  clickatyclack  for 
what  it's  worth  by  the  cart-load.  'Twon't  hurt  me.  Dunno  but  wliat  it's  good 
for  me." 

"Bedad,  it's  betther  for  ye  nor  yer  own  gruntin',"  added  the  irrepressible 
Irishman. 

By  two  in  the  afternoon  they  Iiad  made  perhaps  fifteen  miles,  and  reached 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  which  they  proposed  to  skirt.  As  Glover  was  now 
fagged  out,  Thurstane  decided  to  halt  for  the  night  and  try  deer-stalking.  A 
muddy  water-hole,  surrounded  by  thickets  of  willows,  indicated  their  camping 
ground.  The  sick  man  was  cached  in  the  dense  foliage  ;  his  canteen  was  filled 
for  him  and  placed  bv  his  side  ;  there  could  be  no  other  nursing. 

"  If  the  nagurs  kill  ye,  I'll  revenge  ye,"  was  Sweeny's  parting  encouragement. 
'*  Til  git  ye  back  yer  scalUip,  if  I  have  to  cut  it  out  of  urn." 

Late  in  the  evening  the  two  hunters  returned  empty.  Sweeny,  in  .spite  of  his 
hunger  and  fatigue,  toiled  over  with  stories  of  the  hairbreadth  escapes  of  the 
"anlyloops"  that  he  had  fired  at.  Thurstane  also  had  seen  game,  but  noJ 
near  enough  for  a  shot. 


OVERLAND.  149 

•■'I  dKln''t  look  for  such  b.vi  luck,"  s.iiJ  the  weary  and  half-starved  young  fel- 
low, so'jcrly.  •'  No  supper  for  any  of  us.  We  must  save  our  last  ration  to  make 
to-in<Mrow's  march  on." 

'*li's  a  poor  way  of  atiu'  two  males  in  wan."  remarked  Sweeny.  "  I  niver 
thought  I'd  come  to  wish  [  had  me  haversack  full  o'  dried  bear." 
J~  The  next  day  was  a  terrible  one.  Already  half  famished,  their  only  food  for 
the  twenty-four  hours  was  about  four  ounces  apiece  of  bear  meal,  lough,  ill- 
sceuted,  and  innutritious.  Glover  was  so  weak  with  hunger  and  his  ailments 
that  he  had  to  be  supported  most  of  the  way  by  his  two  comrades.  His  temper, 
and  Sweeny's  also,  gave  out,  and  they  snarled  at  each  other  in  good  earnest,  as 
men  are  apt  to  do  ui.der  protracted  hardships.  Thurstane  stalked  on  in  silence, 
sustained  by  his  youth  and  health,  and  not  less  by  liis  sense  of  responsibility. 
These  men  were  here  through  his  doing;  he  must  support  them  an<l  save  them 
if  possible  ;  if  not,  he  must  show  thetn  how  to  die  b(avely  ;  for  it  had  come  to 
Lea  problem  of  life  and  death.  They  could  not  expect  to  travel  two  days  longer 
without  food.  The  time  was  approaching  when  they  would  fall  down  with 
(_  faintness,  not  to  rise  again  in  this  world. 

In  the  morning  tlieir  only  provision  was  one  small  bit  of  meat  which  Thurs- 
tane had  saved  from  his  ration  of  the  day  before.  This  he  handed  to  Glover, 
saying  with  a  firm  eye  and  a  cheerful  smile,  "  My  dear  fellow,  here  is  your  break- 
fast." 

The  starving  invalid  looked  at  it  wistfully,  and  stammered,  with  a  voice  full 
af  tears,  "  I  can't  eat  v^hen  the  rest  of  ye  don't." 

Sweeny,  who  had  stared  at  the  morsel  with  hungry  eyes,  now  broke  out,  "I 
tell  ye,  ate  it     The  liftinant  wants  ye  to." 

''Divide  it  fair,"  answered  Glover,  who  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from 
sobbing. 

r      "I   won't  t5uch  a  bit  av  it,"  declared    Sweeny.     "It's   the   liftinant's   o-vn 
/  grub." 

"We  won't  divide  it,"  said  Thurstane.  "  I'll  put  it  in  your  pocket,  Glover- 
When  jou  can't  take  another  step  without  it,  you  must  go  at  it." 

C'"  Bedad,  if  ye  don't,  we'll  lave  yees,"  added  Sv.eeny,  digging  his  fists  into  his 
empty  stomach  to  relieve  its  gnawing. 
Very  slowly,  the  well  men  sustaining  the  sick  one,  they  marched  over  rolling 
hills  until  about  noon,  accomplishing  perhaps  ten  miles.  They  were  now  on  a 
slope  looking  southward  ;  above  them  the  wind  sighed  through  a  large  grove  of 
cedars  ;  a  little  below  was  a  copious  spring  of  clear,  sweet  water.  There  they 
halted,  drinking  and  filling  tlieir  canteens,  but  not  eating.  The  square  inch  of 
bear  meat  was  still  in  Glover's  pocket,  but  he  could  not  be  got  to  taste  it  unless 
the  others  would  share. 

'■  Capm,  I  feel  's  though  Heaven  'd  strike  me  if  I  should  eat  your  victuals," 
he  whispered,  his  voice  having  failed  him.  "  I  feel  a  sort  o'  superstitious  'bout 
it.     I  want  to  die  with  a  clear  conscience." 

But  when  they  rose  his  strength  gave  out  entirely,  and  he  dro[)ped  down 
fainting. 

'•  Now  ale  yer  mate,"  said  Sweeny,  in  a  passion  of  pity  and  anxiety.     "  Ate 
yer  mate  an'  stand  up  to  yer  marchin'." 
P       Glover,  however,  could  not  eat,  for  the  fever  of  hunger  had  at  last  produced 
nausea,  and  he  pushed  a^vay  the  unsavory  morsel  when  it  was  put  to  his  lips. 
'"Go  ahead,"  he  whispered.     "No  use  all  dyin'.     Go  ahead."     And  then  ho 
/    fainted  outright 


15^  OVERLAXD. 

"  I  think  the  trail  can't  be  more  than  fifteen  miles  off.''  said  Tliurstane,  ulien 
he  had  found  that  liis  comrade  still  breathed.  "One  of  us  must  push  on  to  it 
and  the  other  stay  with  Glover.  Sweeny,  I  can  track  the  country  best.  You 
must  stay." 

For  the  first  time  in  this  long  and  suffering  and  perilous  journey  Sweeny's 
courage  failed  him,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  shirk  his  duty. 

"My  lad,  it  is  necessary,"  continued  the  ofticer.  "We  can't  leave  this  man 
so.  You  have  your  gun.  You  can  try  to  hunt.  When  he  comes  to,  you  must 
get  him  along,  following  the  course  you  see  me  take.  If  I  find  help,  I'll  save 
you.  If  not,  I'll  come  back  and  die  with  you." 
y  Sitting  down  by  the  side  of  the  insensible  Glover,  Sweeny  covered  hi.« 
^  face  with  two  grimy  hands  which  trembled  a  little.  It  was  not  till  his  ofiicei 
had  got  some  thirty  feet  away  that  be  raised  his  head  and  looked  after  liim. 
Then  he  called,  in  his  usual  quick,  sharp,  ch.attering  way,  "  Liftinant,  is  this  sol- 
dierin' .'' " 

"  Yes,  mj-  lad,"  replied  Thurstane  with  a  sad,  weary  smile,  thinking  meantime 
of  hardships  past,  "this  is  soldiering." 
L  "  Thin  I'll  do  me  dooty  if  I  rot  jest  here/'  declared  the  simple  hero. 

Tliurstane  came  back,  grasped  Sweeny's  hand  in  silence,  turned  away  to  hide 
his  shaken  face,  and  commenced  his  anxious  journey. 

There  were  both  terrible  and  beautiful  thoughts  in  his  soul  as  he  pushed  or» 
into  the  desert.  Would  he  find  the  trail  ?  Would  he  encounter  the  rare  chance 
of  traders  or  emigrants  ?  .  Would  there  be  food  and  rest  for  him  and  rescue  for 
liis  comrades  ?  Would  he  meet  Clara  ?  This  last  idea  gave  him  great  courage  ; 
he  struggled  to  keep  it  constantly  in  his  mind  ;  he  needed  to  lean  upon  it. 

By  the  time  that  he  had  marched  ten  miles  he  found  ti-.at  he  was  weaker  than 
he  had  supposed.     W^eeks  of  wretched  food  and  three  days  of  almost  complete 
starvation  had  taken  the  strength  pretty  much  out  of  his  stalwart  frame.     His 
breath   was  short;  he  stumbled  over  the  slightest  obstacles;   occasionally  he 
could  not  see  clear.     From  time  to  time  it  struck  him  that  he  bad  been  dream- 
ing or  else  that  his  mind  was  beginning  to  wander.     Things  that  he  remembered 
and  things   that  he  hoped  for  seemed  strangely  present.     He  spoke  to  people 
who  were  hundreds  of  miles  away  ;  and,  for  the  most  part,  he  spoke  to  them  pet- 
tishly or  with  downright  anger;  for  in  the  main  he  felt  more  like  a  wretched, 
baited  animal  than  a  human  being, 
r        It  was  only  when  he  called  Clara  to  mind  that  this  evil  spirit  was  exorcised, 
I    and  he  ceased  for  a  moment  to  resemble  a  hungry,  jaded  wolf.     Then  he  would 
be  for  a  while  all  sweetness,  because  he  was  for  the  while  perfectly  happy.     In 
the  next  instant,  by  some  hateful  and  irresistible  magic,  ha])piness  and  sweet- 
I      ness  would  be  gone,  and  he  could  not  even  remember  them  nor  remember  Aer. 

Meantime  he  struggled  to  command  himself  and  pay  attention  to  his  route. 
He  must  do  this,  because  his  starving  comrades  lay  behind  him,  and  he  must 
Know  how  to  lead  men  back  to  their  rescue.  Well,  here  he  was  ;  there  were 
hills  to  the  left ;  there  was  a  mountain  to  the  right ;  he  would  stop  and  fix  it  all 
in  his  memory. 

He  sat  down  beside  a  rock,  leaned  his  back  against  it  to  steady  his  dizzj 
head,  had  a  sensation  of  struggling  with  something  invincible,  and  was  gone. 


r 


OVE  POLAND.  151 


L 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Leaving  Thurst.ine  in  the  desert,  we  return  to  Clar.i  in  the  desert.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  .she  stood  on  the  roof  of  tlie  Casa  Grande  wlien  hei  lover 
was  swept  oarless  down  ilie  San  Juan. 

Slie  was  watchinf»  lum  ;  of  course  she  was  walcliing  him;  at  tlie  moment  of 
tlie  cat.astropl;e  s'.ie  saw  lum  ;  she  felt  sure  also  that  he  was  looking  at  her. 
The  boat  began  to  fly  down  the  current;  tlien  tlie  two  oarsmen  fell  to  paddling 
violently  ;  wiiat  did  it  mean  i*  Far  from  guessing  that  the  towline  had  snapped, 
she  was  not  aware  that  there  was  one. 

On  went  the  boat ;  presently  it  whirled  around  helplessly  ;  it  was  nearing  the 
rocks  of  the  rapid  ;  tiiere  was  evidently  danger.  Running  to  tlie  edge  of  the 
roof,  Clara  saw  a  Mexican  cattle-driver  standing  on  the  wall  of  the  enclosure, 
and  called  to  him,  "  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  The  lariats  have  broken,"  he  replied.     "  Tliey  are  drifting." 

Clara  uttered  a  little  gasp  of  a  shriek,  and  then  did  not  seem  to  breathe  again 
for  a  minute.  She  saw  Thurstane  led  away  in  captivity  by  the  savage  torrent ; 
she  saw  him  rise  up  in  the  boat  and  wave  her  a  farewell;  she  could  not  lift  her 
hand  to  respond  ;  she  could  only  stand  and  stare.  Slie  had  a  look,  and  there 
was  within  her  a  sensation,  as  if  her  soul  were  starting  out  of  her  eyes.  The 
whole  calamity  revealed  itself  to  her  at  once  and  witiiout  mercy.  Tliere  w.as  no 
saving  him  and  no  going  after  him  ;  he  was  being  taken  out  of  her  siglit ;  he  was 
disapj>earing  ;  he  was  gone.  Slie  leaned  forward,  trying  to  look  around  tlie  bend 
of  the  river,  and  was  balked  by  a  monstrous,  cruel  advance  of  precipices.  Then, 
when  she  realized  that  he  had  vanished,  there  was  a  long  scream  ending  in  un- 
consciousness. 

Wiien  she  came  to  herself  everybody  was  talking  of  the  calamity.  Coronado, 
Aunt  Maria,  and  others  overflowed  with  babblings  of  regret,  aatonishnient,  ex- 
planations, and  consolation.  The  lariats  had  broken.  How  could  it  have  hap- 
pened !     How  dreadful  !  etc. 

"But  he  will  land,"  cried  Clara,  looking  eagerly  from  face  to  face. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Coronado.  ''  Landings  can  be  made.  There  are  none 
visible,  but  doubtless  they  exist." 

"And  then  he  will  march  back  here?"  she  demanded. 

"  Not  easily.  I  am  afraid,  my  dear  cousin,  not  very  easily.  There  would  be 
caftons  to  turn,  and  long  ones.  Pi'obably  he  would  strike  for  the  Mocpii  coun- 
try." 

"  Across  the  desert  ?     No  water  !  " 

Coronado  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  to  say  that  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  If  we  go  back  to-morrow,"  she  began  again,  "do  yoti  think  we  shall  over« 
take  them  ?  " 

"  I  tiiink  it  very  probable,"  lied  Coronado. 

"And  if  we  don't  overtake  them,  will  they  join  us  at  the  Moqui  pueblos?" 

"  Yes,  yes.     I  have  little  doubt  of  it." 

"  When  do  you  think  we  ought  to  start  ?  " 

"To-morrow  morning." 

"  Won't  that  be  too  early  ?  " 


152  OVERLAND 

"Day  after  to-morrow  then." 
"Won't  that  be  too  late  ?" 

Coronado  nearly  boiled  over  with  rage.  This  gir.  was  going  to  demand  im« 
possibilities  of  him,  and  impossibilities  that  he  would  not  perform  if  he  could. 
He  must  be  here  and  lie  must  be  there  ;  he  must  be  quick  enough  and  not  a 
minute  too  quick  ;  and  all  to  save  his  rival  from  the  pit  which  he  had  just  dug 
for  him.  Turning  his  back  on  Clara,  he  paced  the  roof  of  the  Casa  in  an  excite- 
ment which  he  could  not  conceal,  muttering,  "  I  will  do  the  best  1  can — the  best 
I  can." 

Prese-ntly  the  remembrance  that  he  had  at  least  gained  one  great  triumph 
enabled  him  to  recover  his  self-possession  and  his  foxy  cunning. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  he  said  gently,  "you  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  not 
greatly  afHicted  by  this  accident.  I  appreciate  the  high  merit  of  Lieutenant 
Thurstane,  and  I  grieve  sincerely  at  his  misfortune.  What  can  I  do  ?  1  will 
do  the  best  I  can  for  all.  Trusting  to  your  good  sense,  1  will  do  whatever  you 
say.  But  if  you  want  my  advice,  here  it  is.  We  ouglit  for  our  own  sakes  to 
leave  here  to-morrow;  but  for  his  sake  we  will  wait  a  day.  In  that  time  he 
may  rejoin  us,  or  he  may  regain  the  Moqui  trail.  So  we  will  set  out,  if  you  have 
no  objection,  on  the  morning  of  day  after  to-morrow,  and  push  for  the  pueblos. 
When  we  do  start,  we  must  march,  as  you  know,  at  our  best  speed." 

"Thank  you,  Coronado,"  said  Clara.     "  It  is  the  best  you  can  do." 

There  were  not  five  minutes  during  that  day  and  the  next  that  tlie  girl  did 
not  look  across  the  plain  to  the  gorge  of  the  dry  canon,  in  the  hope  that  she 
might  see  Thurstane  approacliing.  At  other  times  she  ga/ed  eagerly  down  the 
San  Juan,  althougli  she  knew  that  he  could  not  stem  the  current.  Her  Icve  and 
her  sorrow  were  ready  to  believe  in  miracles.  How  is  it  possible,  she  often 
thought,  that  such  a  brief  sweep  of  water  should  carry  him  so  utterly  away  ?  In 
spite  of  lier  fear  of  vexing  Coronado,  she  questioned  him  over  and  over  as  to  the 
course  of  the  stream  and  the  nature  of  its  banks,  only  to  find  that  he  knew  next 
to  nothing. 

"  It  will  be  hard  for  him  to  return  to  us,"  the  man  finally  suggested,  with  an 
air  of  being  driven  unwillingly  to  admit  it.  "  He  may  have  to  go  on  a  long  way 
down  the  river." 

The  trutli  is  that,  not  knowing  whether  the  lost  men  could  return  easily  or 
not,  he  was  anxious  to  get  away  from  tiieir  neighborliood. 

Before  the  second  day  of  this  suspense  was  over,  Aunt  Maria  had  begun  to 
make  herself  obnoxious.  She  hinted  that  Thurstane  knew  what  he  was  about ; 
that  the  river  was  his  easiest  road  to  his  station  ;  that,  in  short,  he  had  deserted, 
Clara  flamed  up  indignantly  and  replied,  ''  I  know  him  belter." 

"Why,  what  has  I>e  got  to  do  with  us?"  reasoned  Aunt  Maria.  "He 
doesn't  belong  to  our  party." 

"  He  has  his  men  here.     He  wouldn't  leave  his  soldiers." 

"  His  men  !  They  can  take  care  of  themselves.  If  they  can't,  I  should  like 
to  know  what  they  are  good  for.  I  think  it  higlily  probable  he  went  off  of  his 
own  choice." 

"  I  think  it  highly  probable  you  know  nothing  about  it,"  snapped  Clara. 
"You  are  incapable  of  judging  him." 

The  girl  was  not  just  now  herself.  Her  whole  soul  was  concentrated  in  jus- 
tifying, loving,  and  saving  Thurstane;  and  her  manner,  instead  of  being  serene- 
ly and  almost  lazily  gentle,  was  unpleasantly  excited.  It  was  as  if  some  charm* 
ing  alluvial  valley  should  suddenly  give  forth  the  steam  and  lava  of  a  volcana 


OVERLAXD.  153 

Finding  no  sympathy  in  Aunt  Mari;i,  and  having  lillle  confidence  in  the 
good-will  of  Coronado,  she  looked  about  her  for  help.  There  was  Sergeant 
Meyer;  he  had  been  Thuistane's  rii;hth.ind  man  ;  moreover,  he  looked  trust- 
worthy. ^^^^  i^ized  the  first  opportunity  to  beckon  him  up  to  her  eerie  on  the 
rocf  oi  the  Casa. 

''Sergeant,   I   must  speak  with  you  privately,"  she  said  at  once,   with  the 
frankness  of  necessity. 
r        The  sergeant,  a  well-bred  soldier,  respectful  to  ladies,  and  especially  to  la- 
\  dies  who  were  the  friends  of  officers,  raised  his  forefinger  to  his  cap  and  stood  at 
I  attention. 

"  How  came  Lieutenant  Tliurstane  to  go  down  tlie  river?"  slie  asked. 

"It  was  the  lari.it  proke,"  replied  Meyer,  in  a  whispering,  flute-like  voice 
which  he  h;id  when  addressing  his  superiors. 

"  Did  it  break,  or  was  it  cut  ?  " 

The  sergeant  raised  his  small,  narrow,  and  ratlier  piggish  gray  eyes  to  hers 
with  a  momentary  e.\pression  of  anxiety. 

'•  I  must  pe  gareful  what  I  zay,"  he  answered,  sinking  his  voice  still  lower. 
"We  must  poth  pe  gareful.  I  examined  the  lariat.  I  fear  it  was  sawed.  But 
we  must  not  zay  this." 

"Who  sawed  ii  ?"  demanded  Clara  with  a  gasp. 

"It  was  no  one  in  the  poat,"  replied  Aleyer  diplomatically. 

"  Was  it  that  man — that  hunter — Smith  .'"' 

Another  furtive  glance  between  the  sandy  eyelashes  expressed  an  uneasy  as- 
tonishment ;  the  sergeant  evidently  had  a  secret  on  his  mind  which  he  must  not 
run  any  ribk  of  disclosing. 

"I  do  not  zee  how  it  was  Schmidt"  he  fluted  almost  inaudibly.  "  He  was 
watching  the  peasts  at  their  basture." 

"  Then  who  did  saw  it  ?  " 

"  1  do  not  know.     I  do  not  feel  sure  that  it  was  sawed." 

Perceiving  that,  either  from  ignorance  or  caution,  he  would  not  say  more  on 
this  point,  Clara  changed  the  subject  and  asked,  "  Can  Lieutenant  Thurstane  go 
down  the  river  safely  .''  " 

"I  would  like  noting  petter  than  to  make  the  exbedi.ion  myself,"  replied 
Meyer,  once  more  diplomatic. 

Now  came  a  silence,  the  soldier  waiting  respectfully,  the  girl  not  knowing 
<>ow  much  she  might  dare  to  say.  Not  that  she  doubted  Meyer ;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  had  a  perfect  confidence  in  him  ;  how  could  she  fail  to  trust  one  who 
had  been  trusted  by  Thurstane? 

"  Sergeant,"  she  at  last  whispered,  "  we  must  find  him." 

*'  Yes,  miss,"  touching  his  cap  as  if  he  were  taking  an  oath  by  it. 

"And  you,"  she  hesitated,  "must  protect  me." 

"Yes,  miss,"  and  the  sergeant  repeated  his  gesture  of  solemn  affirmation. 
)        "Perhaps  I  will  say  more  some  time." 

He  saluted  again,  and  seeing  that  she  had  nothing  to  add,  retired  quietlv. 

r      For  two  nights  there  was  little  sleep  for  Clara.     She  passed  them  in  ponder- 

'    ng  Thurstane's  chances,  or  in  listening  for  his  returning  footsteps.     Yet  when 

,he  train  set  ont  for  the  Moqui  pueblos,  she  seemed  as  vigorous  and  more  viva- 

»,-!ous  than  usual.     What  supported  her  now  and  for  days  afterward  was  what  is 

I    called  the  strength  of  fever. 

The  return  across  the  desert  was  even  more  terrible  than  the  advance,  for 
the  two  scant  water-holes  had  been  nearly  exiiausted  by  the  Apaches,  so  that 


154  OVERLAND. 

both  beasts  and  human  bein<:;:s  suffered  horribly  wilh  thirst.  Tliere  was  just  this 
one  good  thing  about  the  parched  and  famished  wilderness,  that  it  relieved  the 
emigrants  from  all  fear  of  ambushing  enemies.  Supernatural  beings  alone  coi>l<^ 
have  bushv.'hacked  here.     The  Apaches  had  gone. 

Meanwhile  Sergeant  Meyer  had  a  sore  conscience.  From  the  moment  th« 
boat  went  down  the  San  Juan  he  had  more  or  less  lain  awake  with  the  idea  that, 
according  to  the  spirit  of  his  instructions  from  Thurstane,  he  ought  to  have 
Texas  Smith  tied  up  and  shot.  Orders  were  orders  ;  there  was  no  question 
about  that,  as  a  general  principle  ;  the  sergeant  had  never  heard  the  statement 
disputed.  But  when  he  came  to  consider  the  case  now  before  him,  he  was  out- 
generailed  by  a  doubt.  This  drifting  of  a  boat  down  a  strange  river,  was  it  mur- 
der in  the  sense  intended  by  Tliurstane  ?  And,  supposing  it  to  be  murder, 
could  it  be  charged  in  any  way  upon  Smith  ?  In  the  whole  course  of  his  military 
experience  Sergeant  Meyer  had  never  been  more  perplexed.  On  the  evening 
of  the  first  day's  march  he  could  bear  his  sense  of  responsibility  no  longer,  and 
decided  to  call  a  council  of  war.  Beckoning  his  sole  remaining  comrade  aside 
from  the  bivouac,  he  entered  upon  business. 

"Kelly,  we  are  unter  insdructions,"  he  began  in  his  fiute-like  tone. 

"  I  know  it,  sergeant,"  replied  Kell}',  decorously  squirting  his  tobacco-juice 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth  furthest  from  his  superior. 

"The  question  is,  Kelly,  whether  Schmidt  should  pe  shot." 

"  Tiie  responsibility  lies  upon  you,  sergeant.  I  will  shoot  him  if  so  be  such 
is  orders." 

"Kelly,  the  insdructions  were  to  shoot  him  if  murder  should  habben  in  this 
barty.     The  instructions  were  loose." 

"They  were  so,  sergeant — not  defining  murder." 

"Tiie  question  is,  Kelly,  whether  what  has  habbened  to  the  leftenant  is  mur- 
der.    If  it  is  murder,  then  Schmidt  must  go." 

The  two  men  were  sitting  on  a  bowlder  side  by  side,  their  hands  on  their 
knees  and  their  muskets  leaning  against  their  shoulders.  They  did  not  look  at 
each  other  at  all,  but  kept  their  grave  eyes  on  the  ground.  Kelly  squirted  his 
tobacco-juice  siddong  two  or  three  times  before  he  replied. 

"  Sergeant,"  he  finally  said,  "  my  opinion  Is  we  can't  set  this  down  for  mur- 
der until  we  know  somebody  is  dead." 

"Shust  so,  Kelly.     That  is  my  obinion  myself." 

"  Consequently  it  follows,  sergeant,  if  you  don't  see  to  the  contrary,  that  un- 
til we  know  that  to  be  a  fiict,  it  would  be  uncalled  for  to  shoot  Smith." 

"What  you  zay,  Kelly,  is  shust  what  I  zay." 

"Furthermore,  however,  sergeant,  it  might  be  right  and  in  the  way  of  duty, 
to  call  up  Smith  and  make  him  testify  as  to  what  he  knows  of  this  business, 
whether  it  be  murder,  or  meant  for  murder." 

"  Cock  your  beece,  Kelly." 

Both  men  cocked  their  pieces. 

"  Now  I  will  gall  Schmidt  out  and  question  him,"  continued  Meyer.  "You 
will  stand  on  one  side  and  pe  ready  to  opey  my  orders." 

"Very  good,  sergeant,"  said  Kell}',  and  drop]:)ed  back  a  little  into  the  nearly 
complete  darkness. 

Meyer  sang  out  sharply,  "  Schmidt  !  Texas  Schmidt !  " 

The  desperado  heard  t!ie  summons,  hesitated  a  moment,  cocked  the  revolver 
in  his  belt,  loosened  his  knife  in  its  sheath,  rose  from  his  blanket,  and  walked 
slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  voice.     Passing  Kelly  without  seeing  him.  he  coQ' 


OVERLAND.  ]"j 

fronted  Meyer,  his  hand  on  his  pistol.     There  was  not  the  slijihtcst  tremor  in 
the  lioarse,  low  croak  with  wl)icl>  he  asked,  "What's  the  j^ame,  sergeant  ?  " 

"Schmidt,  stand  berfcctly  still,"  said  :\Ie3er  in  his  softest  flulin-,'.  "Kelly 
has  his  beece  aimed  at  your  head.  If  you  stir  hant  or  foot,  you  are  a  kawn 
koose." 


CIIArTER  XXXII. 

Texas  Smith  was  too  old  a  borderer  to  attempt  to  draw  his  weapons  wnila 
such  a  man  as  Kelly  was  si^jhting  him  at  ten  feet  distance. 

"  Play  yer  hand,  sergeant,"  he  said  ;   "you've  got  the  keerds." 

"You  know,  Schmidt,  that  our  leftenant  has  been  garried  down  the  river,' 
continued  Meyer. 

Tlie  bushwhacker  responded  with  a  grunt  which  expressed  neither  pleasure 
nor  sorrow,  but  merely  assent. 

•'  You  know,"  went  on  the  sergeant,  "  that  such  things  cannot  habben  to  offi- 
cers without  investigations." 

"  He  war  a  squar  man,  an'  a  wliite  man,"  said  Texas.  "  I  didn't  liave  nothin 
to  do  with  cuttin'  him  loose,  if  he  war  cut  loose." 

"  You  didn't  saw  the  lariat  yourself,  Schmidt,  I  know  that.  Eut  do  you  know 
who  did  saw  it  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  the  first  thing  about  it." 

"  Bray  to  pe  struck  tead  if  you  do." 

"  I  dunno  how  to  pray." 

"Then  holt  up  your  hanls  and  gurse  yourself  to  hell  if  you  do." 

Lifting  his  hands  over  his  head,  the  ignorant  savage   blasphemed  copiously. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  guess  how  it  was  pusled  ?"  persisted  the  soldier. 

"  Look  a  hyer  !"  remonstrated  Smith,  "ain't  you  pannin'  me  out  a  leetle  too 
fine?  It  mought 'a' been  this  way,  an' it  mought 'a' been  that.  But  I've  no 
business  to  point  if  I  can't  find.  When  a  man's  got  to  the  bottom  of  his  pile, 
you  can't  fo'ce  him  to  borrow.  'Sposin'  I  set  you  barkin'  iJf)  the  wrong  tree  ; 
what  good's  that  gwine  to  do  ?  " 

"  Veil,  Schmidt,  I  don't  zay  but  what  you  zay  right.  You  mustn't  zay  any  ting 
you  don't  know  someting  npout." 

After  another  silence,  during  which  Texas  continued  to  hold  his  hands  above 
his  head,  Meyer  added,  "Kelly,  you  may  come  to  an  order.  Schmidt,  you  may 
put  down  your  hanls.     Will  you  haf  a  jew  of  topacco  ?" 

The  three  men  now  approached  each  other,  took  alternate  bites  of  the  ser- 
geant's last  plug  of  pigtail,  and  masticated  amicably. 

"  You  army  fellers  run  me  pootty  close,"  said  Texas,  after  a  while,  in  a  tone 
of  complaint  and  humiliation.  "  I  don't  want  to  fight  brass  buttons.  They're 
too  many  for  me.  The  Capm  he  lassoed  me,  an'  choked  me  some  ;  an'  now 
you're  on  it." 

"  When  things  habben  to  officers,  they  must  pe  looked  into,"  replied  Meyer. 
"  I  dunno  how  in  thunder  the  lariat  got  busted,"  repeated  Texas.     "  An'  if  I 
should  go  for  to  guess,  I  mought  guess  wrong." 

"  All  right,  Schmidt  ;  I  pe'.ieve  you.  If  there  is  no  more  drubblc,  you  will 
not  pe  called  up  again." 

"Ask  him  what  he  thinks  of  the  leftenant's  chances,"  suggested  Kelly  to  his 
luperior. 


156  OVERLAND. 

*•  Reckon  he'll  hev  to  run  the  river  a  spell,"  returned  the  borderer.  "  Reclcon 
he"ll  hev  to  run  it  a  hell  of  a  ways  befo'  he'll  be  able  to  git  across  the  darr 
country." 

"  Ask  him  what  the  chances  be  of  running  the  river  safely,"  added  Kelly. 

"  Dam  slim,"  answered  Texas  ;  and  there  the  talk  ended.  There  was  some 
meditative  cliev,'ing,  after  which  the  tliree  returned  to  the  bivouac,  and  either  lay 
down  to  sleep  or  took  their  tours  at  guard  duty. 

rAt  dawn  the  party  recommenced  its  flight  toward  the  Moqui  country.  There 
were  sixty  hours  more  of  hard  riding,  insufficient  sleep,  short  rations,  thirst,  and 
anxiety.  Once  the  sufiering  animals  stampeded  after  water,  and  ran  for  several 
miles  over  plateaux  of  rock,  dashing  off  burdens  and  riders,  and  only  hailing 
when  they  were  plunged  knee-deep  in  t'le  water-hole  which  they  had 
scented.  One  of  the  wounded  rancheros  expired  on  the  mule  to  which  he  was 
strapped,  and  was  carried  dead  for  several  hours,  his  asliy-brown  face  swinging 
l_Jio  and  fro,  until  Coronado  had  him  thrown  into  a  crevice. 

Amid  these  hardships  and  horrors  Clara  showed  no  sign  of  flagging  or  flinch- 
ing. She  was  very  tliin  ;  bad  food,  excessive  fatigue,  and  anxiety  had  reduced 
her;  her  face  was  pinched,  narrowed,  and  somewhat  lined  ;  her  expression  was 
painfully  set  and  eager.  But  she  never  asked  for  repose,  and  never  complained. 
Her  mind  was  solely  fixed  upon  finding  Tiiurstane,  and  her  feverish  bright  eyes 
continually  searched  the  horizon  for  him.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  her  power 
of  sympathizing  with  any  other  creature.  To  Mrs.  Stanley's  groanings  and 
murmurings  she  vouchsafed  rare  and  brief  condolences.  The  dead  muleteer  and 
the  tortured,  bellowing  animals  attracted  little  of  her  notice.  She  was  not  hard- 
hearted ;  she  was  simply  almost  insane.  In  this  state  of  abnormal  exaltation 
she  continued  until  the  party  reached  the  quiet  and  safety  of  the  Moqui  pueblos. 

Then  there  was  a  change  ;  exhausted  nature  required  either  apathy  or  death  ; 
and  for  two  days  she  lay  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  sleeping  a  great  deal,  and  crying 
often  when  awake.  The  only  person  capable  of  rousing  her  was  Sergeant 
Meyer,  who  made  expeditions  to  the  other  pue'ulos  for  news  of  Thurstane,  and 
brought  her  news  of  his  hopes  and  his  failures. 

After  a  three  d.ays'  rest  Coronado  decided  to  resume  his  journey  by  moving 
southward  toward  the  Bernalillo  trail.  Freed  from  Thurstane,  he  no  longer 
contemplated  losing  Clara  in  the  desert,  but  meant  to  marry  her,  and  trusted 
that  he  could  do  it.  Two  of  his  wagons  he  presented  to  t!ie  Moquis,  who  were, 
of  course,  delighted  with  the  acquisition,  although  they  had  no  more  use  for 
wheeled  vehicles  than  for  gunboats.  With  only  four  wagons,  his  animals  were 
more  than  sufficient,  and  the  train  made  tolerably  rapid  progress,  in  spite  of  the 
roughness  of  the  country. 

rThe  land  was  still  a  wonder.  The  water  wizards  of  old  had  done  their  gro- 
tesque utmost  here.  What  with  sculpturing  and  frescoing,  they  had  made  that 
most  fantastic  wilderness  the  Painted  Desert.  It  looked  like  a  mirage.  The 
travellers  had  an  impression  that  here  was  some  atmospheric  illusion.  It  seemed 
as  if  it  could  not  last  five  minutes  if  the  sun  should  shine  upon  it.  There  were 
crowding  hills  so  variegated  and  gay  as  to  put  one  in  mind  of  masses  of  soap- 
bubbles.  But  the  coloring  was  laid  on  fifteen  hundred  feet  deep.  It  consisted 
of  sandstone  marls,  red,  blue,  green,  orange,  purple,  white,  brown,  lilac,  and  yel- 
low, in  terstratified  with  magnesian  limestone  in  bands  of  purple,  bluish-white, 
and  motded,  with  here  and  there  shining  flecks  or  great  glares  of  gypsum. 

Among  the  more  delicate  wonders  of  the  scene  were  the  petrified  trunks 
which  had  once  been  pines  and  cedars,  but  which  were  now  flint  or  jasper.    The 


OVERLAND.  157 

wasliinss  of  geologic  asons  h.-ive  exposed  to  view  immense  qmntilles  of  tliesa 
ench.inTeil  forests.  Fragments  of  silicified  trees  are  not  only  sircwn  over  ihe 
Invlands,  but  arc  piled  by  the  hundred  cords  at  the  bases  of  slopes,  seeming 
like  so  much  drift-wood  from  wonder-lands  far  up  the  stream  of  •.ime.  Generally 
they  are  in  short  bits,  broken  square  across  the  grain,  as  if  sawed.  Some  are 
jasper,  and  look  like  masses  of  red  sealing-wax  ;  others  are  agate,  or  op  descent 
chalcedony,  beautifully  lined  and  variegated  ;  many  retain  the  graining,  layers, 
knots,  and  other  details  of  their  woody  structure. 

In  places  where  the  marls  had  been  washed  away  gently,  the  emigrants  found 
trunks  complete,  from  root  to  summit,  fifty  feet  in  length  and  three  in  diameter. 
All  the  branches,  however,  were  gone  ;  the  tree  had  been  uprooted,  transported, 
whirled  and  worn  by  deluges  ;  then  to  commemorate  the  victory  of  the  water 
sprites,  it  had  been  changed  into  stone.  The  sight  of  these  remnants  of  ante- 
diluvian woodlands  made  history  seem  the  reminiscence  of  a  chill.  They  were 
I     already  petrifactions  when  the  human  race  was  born. 

The  Painted  Desert  has  other  marvels.  Throughout  vast  stretches  you  pass 
between  tinted  mesas,  or  tables,  which  face  each  other  across  flat  valleys  like 
painted  palaces  across  the  streets  of  Genova  la  Superba.  They  are  giant  splen- 
dors, hundreds  of  feet  in  height,  built  of  blood-red  sand-tone  capped  with  varie- 
gated marls.  The  torrents,  which  scooped  out  the  intersecting  levels,  amused 
their  monstrous  leisure  with  carving  the  points  and  abutments  of  the  mesa  into 
fantastic  forms,  so  that  the  traveller  sees  towers,  minarets,  and  spires  loftier  than 
the  pinnacles  of  cathedrals, 
r  The  emigrants  were  often  deceived  by  these  freaks  of  nature.  Beheld  from  a 
distance,  it  seemed  impossible  that  they  should  not  be  ruins,  the  monuments  of 
some  Cyclopean  race.  Aunt  Maria,  in  particular,  discovered  casas  grandes 
/     and  casns  de  Montezuma  very  frequently. 

"  There  is  another  casa,"  she  would  say,  staring  through  her  spectacles  (bro- 
ken) at  a  butte  three  hundred  feet  high.  "  What  a  people  it  must  have  been 
which  raised  such  edifices  !" 

And  she  would  slick  to  it,  too,  until  she  was  close  up  to  the  solid  rock,  and 
then  would  renew  the  transforming,'  miracle  five  or  ten  miles  further  on. 

Durin"-  this  long  and  marvellous  journey  Coronado  renewed  his  courtsliip. 
He  was  cautious,  however  ;  he  made  a  confidant  of  his  friend  Aunt  Maria  ;  beg- 
ged her  favorable  intercession. 

"  Clara,"  said  Mrs.  Stanley,  as  the  two  women  jolted  along  in  one  of  the  lum- 
bering wagons,  "  there  is  one  thing  in  your  life  which  perhaps  you  don't  sus- 
pect." 

The  girl  who  wanted  to  hear  about  Thurstane  all  the  time,  and  expected  to 
hear  about  him,  asked  eagerly,  "  What  is  it  ? " 

"You  have  made   Mr.  Coronado  fa'l  in  love  with  you,"  said   Aunt  Maria, 
thinking  it  wise  to  be  clear  and  straightforward,  as  men  are  reputed  to  be. 
The  young  lady,  instantly  revolting  from  the  subject,  made  no  reply. 
"  I  think,  Clara,  that  if  you  take  a  husband— and  most  women  do— he  would 
be  just  the  person  for  you." 

Clara,  once  the  gentlest  of  the  gentle,  was  perfectly  angelic  no  longer.  She 
gave  her  relative  a  stare  which  was  partly  intense  misery,  but  which  had  much 
the  look  of  pure  anger,  as  indeed  it  was  in  a  measure. 

The  expressions  of  violent  emotion  are  alarming  to  most  people.  Aunt 
Maria,  beholding  this  tortured  soul  glaring  at  her  out  of  its  prison  windows,  re- 
coiled in  surprise  and  awe.     There  was  not  another  word  spoken  at  the  time 


158  OVERLAND. 

concerning  the  obnoxious  match-making.  A  single  stare  of  Vfarius  had  put  to 
flight  tlie  executioner. 

In  one  way  and  another  Clara  continued  to  baffle  her  suitor  and  her  advocate. 
The  da3's  dragged  on  ;  the  expedition  steadily  traversed  the  desert  ;  the  Santa 
Anna  region  was  crossed,  and  the  Bernalillo  trail  reached  ;  one  hundred,  two 
hundred,  three  hundred  miles  and  more  were  left  behind  ;  and  still  Coronado, 
though  without  a  rival,  was  not  accepted. 

Then  came  an  adventure  which  partly  helped  and  partly  hindered  his  plans. 
The  train  was  overtaken  by  a  detacliment  of  tlie  Fifth  United  States  Cavalry, 
commanded  by  Major  John  Robinson,  pushing  for  California.  Of  course  Ser- 
geant Meyer  reported  himself  and  Kelly  to  the  Major,  and  of  course  the  Major 
ordered  them  to  join  his  party  as  far  as  Fort  Yuma.  Tiiis  deprived  Clara  of  Iier 
trusted  protectors  ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  she  threatened  to  take  advantage  of 
the  escort  of  Robinson  for  the  rest  of  her  journey  ;  and  the  mere  mention  of  this 
at  once  brought  Coronado  on  his  soul's  manow-bones.  He  swore  by  the  heaven 
above,  bv  all  the  saints  and  angels,  by  the  throne  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  by  every 
sacred  object  he  could  think  of,  that  not  another  word  of  love  should  pass  his 
lips  during  the  journej',  that  he  would  live  the  life  of  a  dead  man,  etc.  Over- 
come by  his  pleadings,  and  by  the  remonstrances  of  Aunt  Maria,  who  did  not 
want  to  have  her  favorite  driven  to  commit  suicide,  Clara  agreed  lo  continue  with 
the  train. 

After  this  scene  followed  days  of  hot  travelling  over  hard,  gravelly  plains, 
thinly  coated  with  grass  and  Qotted  with  cacti,  mezquit  trees,  the  leafless  palo 
verde,  and  tlie  greasewood  bush.  Here  and  there  towered  that  giant  cactus,  the 
saguarra,  a  fluted  shaft,  thirty,  forty,  and  even  sixty  feet  high,  witli  a  coronet  of 
richl3'-colored  flowers,  tlie  whole  fabric  as  splendid  as  a  Corinthian  column. 
Prickly  pears,  each  one  large  enough  to  make  a  thicket,  abounded.  Through 
the  scorching  sunshine  ran  scorpions  and  lizards,  pursued  by  enormous  rattle- 
snakes. During  the  days  the  heat  ranged  from  loo  to  Ii5deg.  inthe  shade, 
while  the  nights  were  swept  by  winds  as  parching  as  the  breath  of  an  oven.  The 
distant  mountains  glared  at  the  eye  like  metals  brought  to  a  white  heat.  Not  sel- 
dom they  passed  horses,  mules,  cattle,  and  sh.eep,  which  had  perished  in  this  ter- 
rible transit  and  been  turned  to  mummies  by  tlie  dry  air  and  baking  sun.  Some 
of  these  carcasses,  having  been  set  on  their  legs  by  passing  travellers,  stood  up- 
right, staring  with  blind  eyeballs,  grinning  through  dried  lips,  mockeries  of  life, 
statues  of  death. 

In  spite  of  these  hardships  and  horrors,  Clara  kept  up  her  courage  arc!  was 
almost  cheerful  ;  for  in  the  first  place  Coronado  had  ceased  his  terrifying  atten- 
tions, and  in  the  second  place  they  were  nearing  Cactus  Pass,  where  she  hoped 
to  meet  Thurstane.  When  love  has  not  a  foot  of  certainty  to  stand  upon,  it  can 
take  wing  and  soar  through  the  incredible.  The  idea  that  they  two,  divided 
hundreds  of  miles  back,  should  come  together  at  a  jiiven  point  by  pure  accident, 
was  obviously  absurd.     Yet  Clara  could  trust  to  the  chance  and  live  for  it. 

The  scenery  changed  to  mountains.  Tliere  were  barren,  sublime,  awful 
peaks  to  the  right  and  left.  To  the  girl's  eyes  they  were  beautiful,  for  she 
trusted  that  Thurstane  beheld  them.  She  was  always  on  horseback  now,  scan- 
ning every  feature  of  the  landscape,  searching  of  course  for  him.  She  did  not 
pass  a  cactus,  or  a  thicket  of  mezquit,  or  a  bowlder  without  anxious  examina- 
tion. She  imagined  herself  finding  him  helpless  with  hunger,  or  passing  him 
anseen  and  leaving  him  to  die.     She  was  so  pale  and  thin  with  constant  anxietj 


OVEKLAND,  lf5^1 

that  30U  might  have  t!ioup;ht  her  half  starved,  or  recovering  from  some  acute 
mahidy. 

r  About  five  one  afternoon,  as  the  train  was  approaching  its  halting-place  at  a 
spring  on  tlie  western  side  of  the  pass,  Clara's  feverish  mind  fixed  on  a  group 
of  rocks  lialf  a  mile  from  the  trail  as  the  spot  where  she  would  find  Thurstane 
In  obedience  to  similar  impressions  she  had  alreadj  made  many  expeditions  of 
this  nature.  Constant  failure,  and  a  consciousness  that  all  this  searching  was 
folly,  could  not  shake  her  wild  hopes.  She  set  off  at  a  canter  alone  ;  but  after 
going  some  four  hundred  yards  she  heard  a  gallop  behind  her,  and,  looking 
over  her  shoulder,  she  saw  Coronado.  She  did  not  want  to  be  away  from  the 
train  with  him  ;  but  she  must  at  all  hazards  reach  that  group  of  rocks  ;  some- 
thing within  impelled  her.  Better  mounted  than  she,  he  was  soon  by  her  side, 
and  after  a  wliile  struck  out  in  advance,  saying,  '•  I  will  look  out  for  an  ambush." 

When  Coronado  reached  the  rocks  he  was  fifty  yards  ahead  of  Clara.  He 
made  the  circuit  of  them  at  a  slow  canter;  in  so  doing  he  discovered  the  starv- 
ing and  fainted  Thurstane  lying  in  tlie  high  grass  beneath  a  low  shelf  of  stone  ; 
he  saw  him,  he  recognized  him,  and  in  an  instant  lie  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 
But  such  was  his  power  of  self-control  that  he  did  not  check  his  horse,  nor  cast 
a  second  look  to  see  whether  the  man  was  alive  or  dead.  He  turned  the  last 
stone  in  the  group,  met  Clara  witli  a  forced  smile,  and  said  gently,  '•  There  is 
nothing." 

She  reined  up,  drew  a  long  sigh,  thought  that  here  was  another  foolish  hope 
I crushed,  and  turned  her  horse's  head  toward  the  train. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

The  tread  of  Coronado's  horse  passing  williin  fifteen  feet  of  Thurstane 
roused  him  from  the  troubled  sleep  into  which  he  had  sunk  after  his  long  faint- 
ing fit. 

Slowly  he  opened  his  eyes,  to  see  nothing  but  long  grasses  close  to  his  face, 
and  through  them  a  haze  of  mountains  and  sky.  His  first  moments  of  waken- 
ing were  so  far  from  being  a  full  consciousness  that  he  did  not  comprehend 
where  he  was.     He  felt  very,  very  weak,  and  he  continued  to  lie  still. 

But  presently  he  became  aware  of  sounds;  there  w;-.s  a  trampling,  and  then 
there  were  words  ;  the  voices  of  life  summoned  him  to  live.  Instantly  he  re- 
membered two  things  :  the  starving  comrades  whom  it  was  his  duty  to  save, 
and  the  loved  girl  whom  he  longed  to  find.  Slowly  and  with  effort,  grasjjing  at 
the  rock  to  aid  his  trembliog  knees,  he  rose  to  his  feet  just  as  Clara  turned 
Iitr  horse's  head  toward  the  plain. 

Coronado  threw  a  last  anxious  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  wretch  whom  he 
meant  to  abandon  to  the  desert.  To  his  horror  he  saw  a  lean,  smirched,  ghostly 
face  looking  at  him  in  a  dazed  way,  as  if  out  of  the  blinding  shades  of  death. 
The  quickness  of  this  villain  was  so  wonderful  that  one  is  almost  tempted  to 
call  it  praiseworthy.  He  perceived  at  once  that  Thurstane  would  be  discovered, 
and  that  he,  Coronado,  must  make  the  discovery,  or  he  might  be  charged  with 
attempting  to  leave  him  to  die. 

"  Good  heavens  1"  he  exclaimed  loudly,  "  there  he  is  !  " 

Clara  turned:  there  was  a  scream  of  joy:  she  was  on  the  ground,  running: 
she  was  in  Thurstane's  arms.     During  that  unearthly  moment  there  was  nc 


r 


160  OVERLAND. 

tliouglit  in  those  two  of  Coronado,  or  of  any  being  but  each  otlier.  It  is  impos- 
sible fully  to  describe  such  a  meeting  ;  its  exterior  signs  are  beyond  language  ; 
its  emotion  is  a  lifetime.  If  words  are  feeble  in  presence  of  llie  iieights  and 
depths  of  the  Colorado,  they  are  impotent  in  presence  of  the  altitudes  and  abysses 
of  great  passion.  Human  speech  has  never  yet  completely  expressed  human  in- 
tellect, and  it  certainly  never  will  completely  express  human  sentiments.  These 
lovers,  who  had  been  wandering  in  chasms  impenetrable  to  hope,  were  all  of  a 
sudden  on  mountain  summits  dizzy  with  joy.  What  could  they  say  for  them- 
selves, or  what  can  another  say  for  them  ? 

Clara  only  uttered  inarticulate  murmurs,  while  her  hands  crawled  up  Thur- 
stane's  arms,  pressing  and  clutching  him  to  make  sure  that  he  was  alive.  There 
was  an  indescribable  pathos  in  this  eagerness  wliich  could  not  trust  to  sight,  but 
must  touch  also,  as  if  she  were  blind.  Thurstane  held  her  firmly,  kissing  hair, 
forehead,  and  temples,  and  whispering,  "Clara!  Clara!"  Her  face,  which  had 
turned  white  at  the  first  glimpse  of  him,  v.'as  now  roseate  all  over  and  damp 
with  a  sweet  dew.  It  became  smirched  with  the  dust  of  liis  face  ;  but  she  would 
only  have  rejoiced,  had  she  known  it  ;  his  very  squalor  was  precious  to  her. 

At  last  she  fell  back  from  him,  hel.l  him  at  arm's  length  with  ease,  and  stared 
at  him.     "  Oli,  how  sick  !  "  she  gasped.     "  How  tliin  !     You  arc  starving.'' 

She  ran  to  her  horse,  drew  from  Jier  saddle-bags  some  remnants  of  food,  and 
brought  them  to  him.  He  had  sunk  down  faint  upon  a  stone,  and  he  was  too 
weak  to  speak  aloud  ;  but  he  gave  her  a  smile  of  encouragement  which  was  at 
once  pathetic  and  sublime.  It  said,  "  I  can  bear  all  alone  ;  you  must  not  surfer 
for  me."  But  it  said  this  out  of  such  visible  exhaustion,  that,  instead  of  being 
comforted,  she  was  terrified. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  die,"  she  whispered  with  quivering  mouth.  "  If  you  die, 
I  will  die." 

Then  she  checked  her  emotion  and  added,  "There  !  Don't  mind  me.  I  am 
silly.     Eat." 

Meanwhile  Coronado  looked  on  with  such  a  face  as  lago  might  have  worn 
had  he  felt  the  jealousy  of  Othello.  For  the  first  time  he  positively  knew  that 
the  woman  he  loved  was  violently  in  love  with  another.  He  suffered  so  horribly 
that  we  should  be  bound  to  pity  him,  only  that  he  suffered  after  the  fashion  of 
devils,  his  malignity  equalling  his  agony.  While  he  was  in  siich  pain  that  his 
heart  ceased  beating,  his  fingers  curled  like  snakes  around  the  handle  of  his  re- 
volver. Nothing  kept  him  from  shooting  that  man,  yes,  and  that  woman  also, 
hut  the  certainty  that  the  deed  would  make  him  a  fugitive  for  life,  subject  every- 
Vv'here  to  the  summons  of  the  hangman. 

Once,  almost  overcome  by  the  temptation,  he  looked  around  for  the  train.  It 
was  within  hearing;  he  thought  jie  saw  Mrs.  Stanley  watching  him  ;  two  of  his 
Mexicans  were  approaching  at  full  speed.  He  dismounted,  sat  down  upon  a 
stone,  partially  covered  his  face  witli  his  hand,  and  tried  to  bring  himself  to  look 
at  the  two  lovers.  At  last,  when  he  perceived  that  Thurstane  was  eating  and 
Clara  merely  kneeling  by,  he  walked  tremulously  toward  them,  scarcely  con- 
scious of  his  feet. 

"Welcome  to  life,  lieutenant,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  wish  to  interrupt.  Now 
I  congratulate." 

Thurstane  looked  at  him  steadily,  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment,  and  then 
put  out  his  hand. 

"  It  was  I  who  discovered  you,"  went  on  Coronado,  as  he  took  the  lean 
grimy  fingers  in  his  buckskin  gauntlet. 


OVERLAND.  Ill 

"I  know  it,"  mumbled  the  )-ouiig  fellow  ;  then  with  a  visible  effort  he  added, 
♦'  Thanks." 

Presently  the  two  Mexicans  pulled  up  with  loud  exclamations  of  joy  ana 
wonder.  One  of  them  took  out  of  his  haversack  a  quantity  of  provisions  and  a 
flask  of  a<;uardiente  ;  and  Coronado  handed  them  to  Thurstane  with  a  smile, 
hopinfj  that  he  would  surfeit  himself  and  die. 

"  No,"  said  Clara,  seizin^j  the  food.  "You  have  eaten  enough.  Yor  may 
drink." 

"Where  are  the  others  ?"  she  presently  asked. 

"In  the  hills,"  he  answered.     "Starving.     I  must  go  and  find  them." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  must  go  to  the  train.  Some  one  else  will  Lok 
for  them." 

One  of  the  rancheros  now  dismounted  and  helped  Tluustane  into  his  saddle. 
Then,  the  Mexican  steadying  him  on  one  side  and  Clara  riding  near  him  on  tlie 
other,  he  was  conducted  to  the  train,  which  was  at  that  moment  going  into  park 
near  a  thicket  of  willows. 

In  an  amazinjily  short  time  he  was  very  like  himself  Healthy  and  plucky, 
lie  had  scarcely  swallowed  his  food  and  brandy  before  he  began  to  draw  strength 
from  them  ;  and  he  had  scarcely  begun  to  breathe  freely  before  he  began  to  talk, 
of  his  duties. 

"  I  must  go  back,"  he  insisted.  "  Glover  and  Sweeny  are  starving.  I  must 
look  them  up." 

"Certainly,"  answered  Coronado. 

"  No  !  "  protested  Clara.     "  You  are  not  strong  enough." 

"  Of  course  not,"  cliimed  in  Aunt  Maria  with  real  feeling,  for  she  was  shocked 
by  the  youth's  haggard  and  ghastly  face. 

"Who  else  can  find  tliem?"  he  argued.  "I  shall  want  two  spare  animals. 
Glover  can't  march,  and  I  doubt  whether  Sweeny  can." 

"You  shall  have  all  you  need,''  declared  Coronado. 

"He  mustn't  go,"  cried  Clara.  Then,  seeing  in  his  face  that  he  would  go, 
she  added,  "  I  will  go  with  him." 

"  No,  no,"  answered  several  voices.     "You  would  only  be  in  the  way." 

"Give  me  my  horse,"  continued  Thurstane.  "  Wliere  are  Me\er  and 
Kelly?" 

He  was  told  how  they  had  gone  on  to  Fort  Yuma  with  Major  Robinson, 
taking  his  horse,  the  government  mules,  stores,  etc. 

"Ah!  unfortunate,"  he  said.  "However,  that  was  right.  Well,  give  me  a 
mule  for  myself,  two  mounted  muleteers,  and  two  spare  animals  ;  some  provi- 
sions also,  and  a  flask  of  brandy.  Let  me  start  as  soon  as  the  men  and  beasts 
iiave  eaten.     It  is  forty  miles  there  and  back." 

"  Hut  you  can't  find  your  way  in  the  night,"  persisted  Clara. 

"There  is  a  moon,"  answered  Thurstane,  looking  at  her  gratefully ;  while 
Coronado  added  encouragingly,  "Twenty  miles  are  easily  done." 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  hoped  Clara.  "  You  can  almost  get  there  before  dark.  Do  start 
at  once." 

But  Coronado  did  not  mean  that  Thurstane  should  set  out  immediately.  He 
dropped  various  obstacles  in  the  w.ay :  for  instance,  the  animals  and  men  must 
be  thoroughly  refreshed  ;  in  short,  it  was  dusk  before  all  was  ready. 

Meantime  Clara  had  found  an  opportunity  of  whispering  to  Tluirstane. 
"Must  you  ?  "  And  he  had  answered,  looking  at  her  as  the  Huguenot  looks  at 
his  wife  in  Millais's  picture,  "  My  dear  love,  you  know  that  I  must." 


162  OVERLAND. 

i 

"You  a//// be  careful  of  yourself?  "  she  begged. 

'•  For  your  sake." 

"But  remember  that  man,"  she  whispered,  looking  about  for  Texas  Smith. 

"He  is  not  going.  Come,  my  own  darling,  don't  frighten  yourself  Think 
of  my  poor  comrades." 

"  I  will  pray  for  them  and  for  j-ou  all  the  time  you  are  gone.  But  oh,  Ralph, 
there  is  one  thing.  I  must  tell  you.  I  am  so  afraid.  I  did  wrong  to  let  Coro- 
n.ido  see  how  much  I  care  for  you.     I  am  afraid " 

He  seemed  to  understand  her.  '"It  isn't  possible,"  he  murmured.  Then, 
after  eyeing  her  gras'ely  for  a  moment,  he  asked,  "  I  may  be  always  sure  of  you  ? 
Oh  yes  !  I  knew  it.  But  Coronado  ?  Well,  it  isn't  possible  tliat  he  would  try 
to  commit  a  treble  murder.  Nobody  abandons  starving  men  in  a  desert.  Well, 
I  must  go.  I  must  save  these  men.  After  that  we  will  think  of  these  other 
things.     Good-by,  my  darling." 

The  sultry  glow  of  sunset  had  died  out  of  the  west,  and  the  radiance  of  a  full 
moon  was  climbing  up  the  heavens  in  the  east  when  Thurstane  set  off  on  his  pil- 
grimage of  mercy.  Clara  watched  him  as  long  as  the  twilight  would  let  her  see 
him,  and  then  sat  down  witli  drooped  face,  like  a  flower  which  has  lost  the  sun. 
If  any  one  spoke  to  her,  she  answered  tardily  and  not  always  to  liie  purpose. 
She  was  fulfilling  her  promise  ;  she  was  praying  for  Thurstane  and  the  men 
iviiom  he  had  gone  to  save  ;  that  is,  she  was  praying  when  her  mind  did  not 
wander  into  reveries  of  terror.  After  a  time  she  started  up  with  the  thought, 
"Where  is  Te.xas  Smith?"  He  was  not  visible,  and  neither  was  Coronado. 
Suspicious  of  some  evil  intrigue,  she  set  out  in  search  of  them,  made  the  circuit 
of  the  fires,  and  then  wandered  into  the  willow  thickets.  Amid  the  underwood, 
hastening  toward  the  w.agons,  she  met  Coronado. 

"Ah  !  "  he  started.  "  Is  that  you,  my  lillle  cousin  ?  You  are  as  terrible  in 
the  dark  as  an  Apache." 

*'  Coronado,  where  is  your  hunter  ?"  she  asked  with  a  beating  heart. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  been  looking  for  him.  My  dear  cousin,  what  do  you 
wantf  " 

"  Coronado.  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.     Tliat  man  is  a  murderer.     I  know  it." 

Coronado  just  took  the  time  to  draw  one  long  breath,  and  then  replied  with 
sublime  effrontery,  "  I  fear  so.  I  learn  that  he  has  told  horrible  stories  about 
himself.     Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  discharged  him." 

"  Oh,  Coronado  !  "  gasped  Clara,  not  knowing  whether  to  believe  him  or  not, 

"Shall  I  confess  to  you,"  he  continued,  "that  I  suspect  him  of  having  weak- 
ened that  towline  so  as  to  send  our  friend  down  the  San  Juan  ?  " 

"  He  never  went  near  the  boat,"  heroically  answered  Ciara,  at  the  same  tin>e 
wishing  she  could  see  Coronado's  face. 

"  Of  course  not.  He  probably  hired  some  one.  I  fear  our  rancheros  are 
none  too  good  to  be  bribed.  I  will  confess  to  you,  my  cousin,  that  ever  since 
that  day  I  have  been  watching  Smith." 

■'Oh,  Coronado  !"  repeated  Clara.  She  was  beginning  to  believe  this  pro- 
digious liar,  and  to  be  all  the  more  alarmed  because  slie  did  believe  him.  "So 
you  have  sent  him  away  ?  I  am  so  glad.  Oh,  Coronado,  I  thank  you.  But 
help  me  look  for  him  now.     I  want  to  know  if  he  is  in  camp." 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  do  Coronado  justice.  While  he  was  pretending  to 
aid  Clara  in  searching  for  Texas  Smith,  he  knew  that  the  man  had  gone  out  to 
murder  Thurstane.  We  must  remember  that  the  man  was  almost  as  wretched 
as  he  was  wicked ;  if  punishment  makes  amends  for  crime,  his  was  in  part  ab* 


OVERLAND.  Hi 

solved.  As  he  walked  about  with  the  girl  he  thought  over  and  over,  Will  it 
kill  her?  He  tried  to  answer,  No.  Another  voice  persisted  in  saying,  Yes.  In 
his  desperation  he  at  last  replied.  Let  it  ! 

We  must  follow  Te.xas  Smith.  He  had  not  started  on  his  errand  until  he 
had  received  five  hundred  dollars  in  gold,  and  five  hundred  in  a  draft  on  San 
Francisco.  Then  he  had  himself  proposed,  "  I  mought  quit  the  train,  an'  take 
my  own  resk  acrost  the  plains."  This  being  agreed  to,  he  had  mounted  his 
horse,  slipped  away  througii  the  willows,  and  ridden  into  the  desert  after  Thur- 
stane. 

He  knew  the  trail  ;  he  had  been  from  Cactus  Pass  to  Diamond  River  and 
back  again  ;  he  knew  it  at  least  as  well  as  the  man  whose  life  he  was  tracking. 
He  thought  he  remembered  the  spring  where  Glover  had  broken  down,  and  felt 
pretty  sure  th.\t  it  could  not  be  less  than  twenty  miles  from  the  camp.  Mounted 
as  he  was,  he  could  put  himself  ahead  of  Thurstane  and  aml)ush  him  in  some 
ravine.  Of  a  sudden  he  laughed.  It  was  not  a  burst  of  merriment,  but  a  grim 
wrinkling  of  ids  dark,  haggard  cheeks,  followed  by  a  hissing  cliuckle.  Texas 
seldom  laughed,  and  with  good  reason,  for  it  was  enough  to  scare  people. 

"  Mought  be  done,"  he  muttered.  "  Mought  git  tlie  better  of  'em  all  that 
way.  Shute,  'an  then  yell.  The  greasers  'ud  think  it  was  Injuns,  an'  they'd 
travel  for  camp.  Then  I'd  stop  the  spare  mules  an'  start  for  Californy." 
p  For  Te.vas  this  plan  was  a  stroke  of  inspiration.  He  was  not  an  intelligent 
scoundrel.  All  his  acumen,  though  bent  to  the  one  point  of  roguery,  had  barely 
sufliced  hitherto  to  commit  murders  and  escape  hanging.  He  had  never  pros- 
pered financially,  because  he  lacked  financial  ability.  He  was  a  beast,  with  all 
a  tiger's  ferocity,  but  with  hardly  more  than  a  tiger's  intelligence.  He  was  a 
savage  numskull.  An  Apache  Tonto  would  have  been  more  than  his  matcli  in 
[^the  arts  of  murder,  and  very  nearly  his  match  in  the  arts  of  civilization. 

Instead  of  following  Thurstane  directly,  he  made  a  circuit  of  several  miles 
through  a  ravine,  galloped  across  a  wide  grassy  plain,  and  pulled  up  among  some 
rounded  hillocks.  Here,  as  he  calculated,  he  was  fifteen  miles  from  camp,  and 
five  from  the  spot  where  lay  Glover  and  Sweeny.  The  moon  had  already  gone 
down  and  left  the  desert  to  the  starlight.  Posting  himself  behind  a  thicket,  he 
waited  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  listening  with  indefatigable  attention. 

He  had  no  scruples,  but  he  had  some  fears.  If  he  should  miss,  the  lieutenant 
would  fire  back,  and  he  was  cool  enough  to  fire  with  effect.  Well,  he  wouldn't 
miss  ;  what  should  he  miss  for  .''  As  for  the  greasers,  they  would  run  at  the 
first  shot.  Nevertheless,  he  did  occasionally  muddle  over  the  idea  of  going  off 
to  California  with  his  gold,  and  without  doing  this  particular  job.  What  kept 
him  to  his  agreement  was  the  hope  of  stealing  the  spare  mules,  and  the  fear  that 
the  draft  might  not  be  paid  if  he  shirked  his  work. 

"  I  s'pose  I  must  show  his  skelp,"  thouglit  Texas,  "or  they  won't  hand  over 
the  dust." 

At  last  there  was  a  sound  ;  he  had  set  his  ambush  just  right ;  there  were 
voices  in  the  distance ;  then  hoofs  in  the  grass.  Next  he  saw  something ;  it 
was  a  man  on  a  mule  ;  yes,  and  it  was  the  right  man. 

He  raised  his  cocked  rifle  and  aimed,  sigliting  the  head,  three  rods  away. 
Suddenly  his  horse  whinnied,  and  then  the  mule  of  the  other  reared  ;  but  the 
bullet  had  already  sped.  Down  went  Thurstane  in  tlie  darkness,  while,  with  an 
Apache  yell,  Texas  Smith  burst  from  his  ambush  and  charged  upon  the  greasers 


164-  OVERLAND. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


The  chase  after  the  spare  mules  carried  Texas  Smith  several  miles  from  the 
scene  of  the  ambush,  so  that  when  he  at  last  caught  the  frightened  beasts,  he  de- 
cided not  to  go  back  and  cut  Thurstane's  throat,  but  to  set  off  at  once  westward 
and  put  himself  by  morning  well  on  the  road  to  California. 

Meanwhile  the  two  muleteers  continued  their  flight  at  full  gallop,  and  event- 
ually plunged  into  camp  with  a  breathless  story  to  the  effect  that  Apaches  had 
attacked  them,  captured  the  spare  mules,  and  killed  the  lieutenant.  Coronado, 
no  more  able  to  sleep  than  Satan,  was  the  first  to  hear  their  tale. 

*'  Apaches  !  "  he  said,  surprised  and  incredulous.  Then,  guessing  at  what 
had  happened,  he  immediately  added,  ''Those  devils  again  !  We  must  push  on, 
the  moment  we  can  see." 

Apaches  !  It  was  a  capital  idea.  He  had  an  excuse  now  for  hurrying  away 
from  a  spot  which  he  had  stained  with  murder.  If  anyone  demanded  that 
Thurstane's  body  should  be  sought  for,  or  that  those  incumbrances  Glover  and 
Sweeny  should  be  rescued,  he  could  respond,  Apaches !  Apaches  !  He  gave 
orders  to  commence  preparations  for  moving  at  the  first  dawn. 

He  expected  and  feared  that  Clara  would  oppose  the  advance  in  some  trying 
way.  But  one  of  the  fugitives  relieved  him  by  blurting  out  the  death  of  Thur- 
stane,  and  sending  her  into  spasms  of  alternate  hysterics  and  fainting  which 
lasted  for  hours.  Lying  in  a  wagon,  her  head  in  the  lap  of  Mrs.  Stanley,  a  sick, 
very  sick,  dangerously  sick  girl,  she  was  jolted  along  as  easily  as  a  corpse. 

Coronado  rode  almost  constantly  beside   her  wagon,  inquiring  about  her 

every  few  minutes,  his  face  chansjing  with  contradictory  emotions,  wishing  she 

would  die  and  hoping  she  would  live,  loving  and  hating  her  in  the  same  breath. 

r^  Whenever  she  came  to  herself  and  recognized  him,  she  put  out  her  hands  and 

implored,  "  Oh.  Coronado,  take  me  back  there  !  " 

"  Apaches  !  "  growled  Coronado,  and  spurred  away  repeating  his  lie  to  him- 
/      self,  "  Apaches  !  Apaches  !  " 

Then  he  checked  his  horse  and  rode  anew  to  her  side,  hoping  that  he  might 
be  able  to  reason  with  her. 

"  Oh,  take  me  back  !  "  was  all  the  response  he  could  obtain.  "  Take  me 
back  and  let  me  die  there." 

"  Would  you  have  us  all  die  ?"  he  shouted — "like  Pepita  !" 

"  Don't  scold  her,"  begged  Aunt  Maria,  who  was  sobbing  like  a  child.  "  She 
doesn't  know  what  she  is  asking." 

But  Clara  knew  too  much  ;  at  the  word  Pepita  she  guessed  the  torture 
scene;  and  then  it  came  into  her  mind  that  Thurstane  might  be  even  now  at 
the  stake.  She  immediately  broke  into  screams,  which  ended  in  convulsions 
and  a  long  fit  of  insensibility. 

"  It  is  killing  her,"  wailed  Aunt  Maria.     "  Oh,  my  child  !  my  child  ! " 

Coronado  spurred  at  full  speed  for  a  mile,  muttering  to  the  desert,  "  Let  it 
kill  her!  let  it  !  " 

At  last  he  halted  for  the  train  to  overtake  him,  glanced  anxiously  at  Clara'j 


OVERLAND.  105 

tpagon,  saw  that  Mrs.  Stanley  was  still  beiuliiiji  over  her,  guessed  that  she  was 
still  alive,  drew  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  rode  on  alone. 

J"  Oh,  this  love-making  !  "  sighed  Aunt  Maria  scores  of  times,  for  she  had  at 
last  learned  of  the  engagement.  "  Wlien  will  my  sex  get  over  the  weakness  ?  It 
kills  ihom,  and  they  like  it." 
That  night  Clara  could  not  sleep,  and  kept  Coronado  awake  willi  her  moan- 
ings.  All  the  next  day  she  lay  in  a  semi-unoonsciousness  which  was  partly 
lethargy  and  partly  fever.  It  was  well  ;  at  all  events  he  could  bear  it  so — bear 
it  better  than  when  she  was  crying  and  praying  for  death.  The  next  night  she 
fell  into  such  a  long  silence  of  slumber  that  he  came  repeatedly  to  her  wagon  to 
hearken  if  she  still  breathed.  Youth  and  a  strong  constitution  were  waging  a 
doubtful  battle  to  rescue  her  from  the  despair  which  threatened  to  rob  her  of 
either  life  or  reason. 

So  the  journey  continued.  Henceforward  the  trail  followed  IVilI  Williams's 
river  to  the  Colorado,  tracked  that  stream  northward  to  the  Mohave  valley, 
and,  crossing  there,  took  the  line  of  the  Mohave  river  toward  California.  It 
was  a  prodigious  pilgrimage  still,  and  far  from  being  a  safe  one.  The  Mohaves, 
one  of  the  tallest  and  bravest  races  known,  from  six  feet  to  six  and  a  half  in 
lieight,  figliting  hand  to  hand  with  short  clubs,  were  not  perfectly  sure  to  be 
friendly.  Coronado  felt  that,  if  ever  he  got  his  wife  and  his  fortune,  he  should 
have  earned  them.  He  was  resolute,  however;  there  was  no  flinching  yet  in 
this  versatile,  yet  obstinate  nature  ;  he  was  as  wicked  and  as  enduring  as  a 
Pizarro, 
f  We  will  not  make  the  journey;  we  must  suppose  it.  Weeks  after  the 
desert  had  for  a  second  time  engulfed  Thurstane,  a  coasting  schooner  from 
Santa  Barbara  entered  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  having  on  board  Clara,  Mrs. 
L^ Stanley,  and  Coronado. 

The  latter  is  on  deck  now,  smoking  his  eternal  cigarito  without  knowing  it, 
and  looking  at  the  superb  scenery  without  seeing  it.  A  landscape  mirrored  in 
the  eye  of  a  horse  has  about  as  much  effect  on  the  brain  within  as  a  landscape 
mirrored  in  the  eye  of  Coronado.  He  is  a  Latin  ;  he  has  a  fine  ear  for  rnusic, 
and  he  would  delight  in  museums  of  painting  and  sculpture;  but  he  has  none 
of  the  passion  of  the  sad,  grave,  imaginative  Anglican  race  for  nature.  Moun- 
tains, deserts,  seas,  and  storms  are  to  him  obstacles  and  hardships.  He  has  no 
more  taste  for  them  than  had  Ulysses. 

He  has  agonized  with  seasickness  during  the  voyage,  and  this  is  the  first 
day  that  he  has  found  tolerable.  Once  more  he  is  able  to  eat  and  stand  up ; 
able  to  think,  devise,  resolve,  and  execute  ;  able,  in  short,  to  be  Coronado.  Look 
at  the  little,  sunburnt,  sinewy,  earnest,  enduring  man  ;  study  his  diplomatic 
countenance,  serious  and  yet  courteous,  full  of  gravity  and  yet  ready  for  gayety  ; 
notice  his  ready  smile  and  gracious  wave  of  the  hand  as  he  salutes  the  skipper. 
He  has  been  through  horrors  ;  he  has  fought  a  tremendous  fight  of  passion, 
crime,  and  peril ;  yet  he  scarcely  shows  a  sign  of  it.  There  is  some  such  lasting 
stuff  in  him  as  goes  to  make  the  Bolivars,  Francias,  and  Lopez,  the  restless  and 
indefatigable  agitators  of  the  Spanish-American  communities.  You  cannot  help 
sympatliizing  with  him  somewhat,  because  of  his  energy  and  bottom.  You  are 
tempted  to  say  tliat  he  deserves  to  win. 

He  has  made  some  progress  in  his  conspiracy  to  entrap  love  and  a  fortune. 
It  must  be  understood  that  the  two  muleteers  persisted  in  their  story  concern- 
ing Apaches,  and  that  consequently  Clara  has  come  to  think  of  Thurstane  aa 
dead.     Meantime  Coronado,  after  the  first  two  days  of  wild  excitement,  has  coa« 


166  aVERLAND. 

ducted  liimself  with  rare  intelligence,  never  alarming  her  with  talk  of  love, 
always  courteous,  kind,  and  useful.  Little  by  little  he  has  worn  away  her  sus- 
picions that  he  planned  murder,  and  her  only  remaining  anger  against  him  is 
because  he  did  not  attempt  to  search  for  Thurstane  ;  but  even  for  that  she  i» 
obliged  to  see  some  excuse  in  the  terrible  word  "  Apaches." 

"I  have  had  no  thought  but  for  her  safety,"  Coronado  often  said  to  Mrs. 
Stanley,  who  as  often  repeated  the  words  to  Clara.  "  I  have  made  mistakes,"  he 
would  go  on.  "The  San  Juan  journey  was  one.  I  will  not  even  plead  Garcia's 
instructions  to  excuse  it.  But  our  circumstances  have  been  terrible.  Who  could 
always  take  the  right  step  amid  such  trials  .''  All  1  ask  is  charity.  If  humility 
deserves  mercy,  I  deserve  it." 

Coronado  even  schooled  himself  into  expressing  .sympathy  with  Clara  for  the 
loss  of  Thurstane.  He  spoke  of  him  as  her  afSanced,  eulogized  his  character, 
admitted  that  he  had  not  formerly  done  him  ju.stice,  hinting  that  this  blindness 
had  sprung  from  jealousy,  and  so  alluded  to  his  own  affection.  These  things  he 
said  at  first  to  Aunt  Maria,  and  slie,  his  steady  partisan,  repeated  them  to  Clara, 
until  at  last  the  girl  could  bear  to  hear  them  from  Coronado.  Sympathy  !  the 
bleeding  heart  must  have  it  ;  it  will  accept  this  balm  from  almost  any  hand,  and 
it  will  pay  for  it  in  gratitude  and  trust. 

/  Thus  in  two  months  from  the  disappearance  of  Thurstane  his  rival  had  begun 

to  hope  that  he  was  supplanting  him.  Of  course  he  had  given  up  all  thoiiglu  of 
carrying  out  the  horrible  plan  with  which  be  had  started  from  Santa  Fe.  In- 
deed, he  began  to  have  a  horror  of  Garcia,  as  a  man  who  had  set  him  on  a 
wrong  track  and  nearly  brought  him  into  folly  and  ruin.     One  might  say  that 

L  Satan  was  in  a  state  of  mind  to  rebuke  sin. 

'  Let  us  now  glance  at  Clara.     She  is  seated  beside  Aunt  Maria  on  the  quar- 

ter-deck of  the  scliooner.  Her  troubles  hive  changed  her;  only  eighteen  years 
old,  she  has  the  air  of  twenty-four ;  her  once  rounded  face  is  thin,  and  her  child- 
like sweetness  has  become  tender  gravity.  When  she  entered  on  this  journey 
she  resembled  the  girl  faces  of  Greuze  ;  now  she  is  sometimes  a  mater  amabiliSy 
and  sometimes  a  tnater  dolorosa;  for  her  grief  has  been  to  her  as  a  maternity. 
The  great  change,  so  far  from  diminishing  her  beauty,  has  made  her  seem  more 
fascinating  and  nobler.     Her  countenance  has  had  a  new  birth,  and  exhibits  a 

L    more  perfect  soul. 

P  We  have  hitherto  had  little  more  than  a  superficial  view  of  the  characters  of 
our  people.  Events,  incidents,  adventures,  and  even  landscapes  have  been  the 
leading  personages  of  the  story,  and  have  been  to  its  human  individualities  what 
the  Olympian  gods  are  to  Greek  and  Trojan  heroes  in  the  Iliad.  Just  as  Jove 
or  Neptune  rules  or  thwarts  Agamemnon  and  Achilles,  so  the  monstrous  circum- 
stances of  the  desert  have  overborne,  dwarfed,  and  blurred  these  travellers.  It 
is  only  now,  when  they  have  escaped  from  the  dii  ?fiajores,  and  have  become  for 
a  brief  period  tranquil  free  agents,  that  we  can  see  them  as  they  are.  Even  yet 
Ihey  are  not  altogether  untrammelled.  Man  is  never  quite  himself;  he  is  al- 
ways under  some  external  influence,  past  or  present ;  he  is  always  being  govr 
l_erned,  if  not  being  created. 

r  Clara,  born  anew  of  trouble,  is  admirable.  There  is  a  sweet,  sedate,  and  al- 
most solemn  womanliness  about  her,  w-hich  even  overawes  Mrs.  Stanley,  con- 
scious of  aunthood  and  strongmindedness,  and  insisting  upon  it  that  her  niece 

1    is  "a  mere  child."     It  is  a  great  victory  to  gain  over  a  lady  who  has  that  sort  of 

Y  self-confidence  that  if  she  had  been  a  sunflower  and  obliged  to  turn  toward  the 
sun  for  life,  she  would  yet  have  believed  that  it  was  she  who  made  him  shin* 


OVERLAND.  ''67 

Wben  Cl.aa  decides  a  mnltev  Mrs.  Stanley,  Nvlule  still  menially  SAying  "  Youno; 
Ibin.^  ••  iVels  nevertheless  that  her  own  decision  has  been  uttered.     And  in  every 

/   8uccess,ve  resistance  she  is  overcome  the  easier,  for  habit  is  a  conqueror. 

^  Thev  have  just  had  a  discussion.  Aunt  Maria  wants  Clara  to  stand  on  hef 
dinnitv  in  a  hotel  until  old  Munoz  goes  down  on  his  marrow-bones,  makes  her  a 
ha'n dsome  allowance,  and  agrees  to  leave  her  at  least  half  his  fortune.  Clara  s 
repiv  is  substantially,  "  He  is  my  grandfather  and  tlie  proper  head  ot  n.y  famd>. 
I  think  I  ou^ht  to  go  straight  to  him  and  say,  Grandlather,  here  I  am. 

Beaton  by  this  gentle  conscientiousness,  Aunt  .Maria  endeavored  to  appeal 

the  matter  to  Coronado.  ,,    j  ,^ 

"  1  am  so  glad  to  see  you  enjoying  your  cigarito  once  more,  she  called  to 

him  with  as  sweet  a  smile  as  if  she  didn't  hate  tobacco.  _ 

He  left  his  smoking  retreat  amidships,  took  off  his  hat  with  a  sort  of  airy 

cravity,  and  approached  them.  ,    ,      j  , ., 

•'  Mr.  Coronado,  where  do  you  propose  to  take  us  wlien  we  reach  land  ? 

asked  Aunt  Maria.  .     .     ,    „  .,  ^ 

*■•  We  will  if  you  please,  go  direct  to  my  excellent  relative  s,    was  the  reply. 
Aunt  Maria  lield  her  head  straight  up,  as  if  stiiT-neckedly  refusing  to  go  there, 

but  made  no  opposition. 

Coronado  had  meditated  everything  and  decided  everything.  It  would  not 
do  to  o-o  to  a  hotel,  because  that  might  lead  to  a  suspicion  that  he  knew  all  the 
while  about  the  death  of  Munoz.  His  plan  was  to  drive  at  once  to  the  old  man's 
place  demand  him  as  if  he  expected  to  see  him,  express  proper  surprise  and 
.xrief  over  the  funereal  response,  put  the  estate  as  soon  as  possible  into  Clara's 
hands  become  her  man  of  atlalrs  and  trusted  friend,  and  .so  climb  to  be  her  hus- 
band '  He  was  anxious  ;  during  all  his  perils  in  the  desert  he  had  never  been 
more  so ;  but  he  bore  tiie  situation  heroically,  as  he  could  bear  ;  his  t.ice  re- 
\-eakd  nothing  but  its  outside— a  smile. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  he  presently  said,  "when  I  once  fairly  set  you  down  m 
your  home,  vou  will  owe  me,  in  spite  of  all  my  blunders,  a  word  of  thanks." 

"  Coronado,  1  shall  owe  you  more  than  I  ever  can  repay,"  she  replied  frank- 
ly without  remembering  that  he  wanted  to  marry  her.  The  next  instant  she  re- 
membered it,  and  her  face  showed  the  first  blush  that  had  tinted  it  for  two 
months.  He  saw  the  significant  color,  and  turned  away  to  conceal  a  joy  which 
mi"-ht  have  been  perilous  had  she  observed  it. 

^Immediatelv  on  landing  he  proceeded  to  carry  out  his  programme.  He  took 
a  hack  drove  the  ladies  direct  to  the  house  of  MuRoz,  and  there  went  decorous- 
ly throu-h  the  form  of  learning  that  the  old  man  was  dead.  Then,  consoling 
the  .sorrowful  and  anxious  Clara,  he  hurried  to  the  best  hotel  in  the  city  and 
made  arrangements  for  what  he  meant  should  be  an  impressive  scene,  the  an- 
nouncement of  her  fortune.  He  secured  tine  rooms  for  the  ladies,  and  ordered 
them  a  handsome  lunch,  with  wine,  etc.,  all  without  regard  to  expense.  The  girl 
must  be  perfectly  comfortable  and  under  a  sense  of  all  sorts  of  obligations  to  him 
when  she  received  his  coup  de  theatre. 

He  was  not  so  preoccupied  but  that  he  quai relied  with  his  coachman  about 
the  hack  hire  and  dismissed  him  with  some  disagreeal  le  epithets  in  Spanish. 
Next  he  took  a  saddle-horse,  as  being  the  cheapest  conveyance  attainable,  and 
cantered  off  to  find  the  executors  of  Mufioz,  enjoying  heartily  such  stares  of  ad- 
miration as  he  got  for  his  splendid  riding.  In  an  hour  he  returned,  f..und  the 
ladies  in  their  freshest  dresses,  and  complimented  them  suit.ably.  At  this  very 
moment  his  anguish  of  an.xiety  and  suspense  was  terrible.     When  Clara  should 


168  OVERLAND. 

earn  that  she  was  a  millionaire,  what  would  she  do  ?  Would  she  throw  off  the 
air  of  friendliness  which  she  had  lately  worn,  and  scout  him  as  one  whom  she 
had  long  known  as  a  scoundrel  ?  Would  all  his  plots,  his  labors,  his  perils,  and 
his  love  prove  in  one  moment  to  have  been  in  vain  ?  As  he  stood  there  smiling 
and  flattering,  he  was  on  the  cross. 

"  But  I  am  talking  trifles,"  he  said  at  last,  fairly  catching  his  breath.  "  Can 
you  guess  why  I  do  it  ?     I  am  prolonging  a  moment  of  intense  pleasure." 

Such  was  his  control  over  himself  that  he  looked  really  benign  and  noble  as 
he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  will  and  held  it  out  toward  Clara. 

"My  dear  cousin,"  he  murmured,  his  dark  eyes  searcliing  her  face  with  in- 
tense anxiet)-,  "you  cannot  imagine  my  joy  in  announcing  to  you  tiiat  you  are 
the  sole  heir  of  the  good  Pedro  Munoz." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

At  tlie  announcement  that  slie  was  a  millionaire  Clara  turned  pale,  took  the 
proff'ered  paper  meclianically  with  trembling  fingers,  and  then,  without  looking 
at  it,  said,  "  Oh,  Coronado  !  " 

It  was  a  tone  of  astonishment,  of  perplexity,  of  regret,  of  protest  ;  it  seemed 
to  declare,  Here  is  a  terrible  injustice,  and  I  will  none  of  it.  Coronado  was  de- 
lighted ;  in  a  breath  he  recovered  all  his  presence  of  mind  ;  he  recovered  his 
voice,  too,  and  spoke  out  cheerfully  : 

"  Ah,  you  are  surprised,  my  cousin.  Well,  it  is  your  grandfather's  will.  You, 
as  well  as  all  others,  must  submit  to  it." 

Aunt  Maria  jumped  up  and  walked  or  rather  pranced  al)out  the  room,  saying 
loudly,  "  He  must  have  been  the  best  man  in  the  whole  world."  After  repeating 
this  two  or  tliree  times,  she  halted  and  added  with  even  more  emphasis,  ^' ILx- 
ceptj'ou,  Mr.  Coronado!" 

The  Mexican  bowed  in  silence  ;  it  was  almost  too  much  to  be  praised  in  that 
way,  feeling  as  he  did  ;  he  bowed  twice  and  waved  his  hand,  deprecating  the 
v:ompliment.  The  interview  was  a  very  painful  one  to  him,  althougli  he  knew 
that  he  was  gaining  admiration  with  every  breath  tliat  he  drew,  and  adn->iration 
just  where  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  him.  Turning  to  Clara  now,  he  beg- 
j{ed,  "Read  it,  if  you  please,  my  cousin." 

The  girl,  by  this  time  flushed  from  chin  to  forehead,  glanced  over  the  paper, 
»nd  immediately  said,  "This  should  not  l)e  so.     It  must  not  be." 

Coronado  was  overjoyed  ;  she  evidentlv  thought  that  she  on'ed  him  and  Gar- 
cia a  part  of  this  fortune  ;  even  if  she  kept  it,  she  would  feel  bound  to  consider 
his  interests,  and  the  result  of  her  conscientiousness  might  be  marriage. 
\~"        "Let  us  have  no  contest  with  the  dead,"  he  replied  grandly.     "Their  wishes 
are  sacred." 

"  But  Garcia  and  you  are  wronged,  and  I  cannot  have  it  so,"  persisted  Clara. 

"  How  wronged  .'' "  demanded  Aunt  Maria.  "  I  don't  see  it.  Mr.  Garcia  was 
only  a  cousin,  and  he  is  rich  enojgh  alreadv." 

Coronado,    remembering   that    he    and    Garcia   were    bankrupt,   wished    he 
(^    could  throw  the  old  lady  out  of  a  windov/. 

"Wait,"  said  Clara  in  a  tone  of  vehement  resolution.  "Give  me  time.  You 
shall  see  that  I  am  not  unjust  or  ungrateful." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  bestow  a  thought  upon  me,"  implored  the  sublime 
hypocrite.     "  Garcia,  it  is  true,  may  have  had  claims.     I  have  none." 


OVERLAND.  1G9 

Aunt  Maria  walked  up  to  him,  squeczctl  bolli  his  liaiuls,  and  came  near  hug- 
ging him.  Once  out  of  this  trial,  Coronado  could  bear  no  more,  but  kissed  his 
fingers  to  the  ladies,  hastened  to  his  own  room,  locked  llie  door,  and  ssvore  all 
the  oaths  that  there  are  in  Spanish,  which  is  no  small  multitude. 

In  a  t'cw  days  after  this  terrible  interview  things  were  going  swimmingly  well 
with  him.  To  keep  Clara  out  of  the  hands  of  fortune-hunters,  but  ostensibly  to 
enable  her  to  pass  her  first  mourning  in  decent  retirement,  he  had  induced  her 
to  settle  in  one  of  Muftoz's  haciendas,  a  few  miles  from  tiie  city,  where  he  of 
course  had  her  much  to  himself.  He  was  her  adviser;  he  was  closeted  fre- 
quently with  the  executors;  he  foresaw  tlie  time  when  he  would  be  the  sole 
manager  of  tiie  estate;  he  began  to  trust  that  he  would  some  day  possess  it. 
What  woman  could  help  leaning  upon  and  confiding  in  a  man  who  was  so  useful, 
so  necessary  as  Coronado,  and  who  had  shown  such  unselfish,  such  magnani- 
mous sentiments  .'' 

riMeantime  the  girl  was  as  admirable  in  reality  as  the  man  was  in  appearance. 
Unexpected  inlierilance  of  large  wealth  is  almost  sure  to  alter,  at  least  for  a 
lime,  and  generally  for  the  worse,  the  manner  and  morale  of  a  young  person, 
whether  male  or  female.  Conceit  or  haughtiness  or  extravagance  or  greediness, 
or  some  other  vice,  pretty  surely  enters  into  either  deportment  or  conduct.  If 
this  girl  was  changed  at  all  by  her  great  good  fortune,  she  was  changed  for  the 
better.  Slie  had  never  been  more  modest,  gentle,  affable,  and  sensible  than  she 
was  now.  The  fact  shows  a  clearness  of  mind  and  a  nobleness  of  heart  which 
place  her  very  high  among  the  wise  and  good.  Such  behavior  under  such  cir- 
cumstances is  equal  to  heroism.  We  are  conscious  that  in  saying  these  things 
of  Clara  we  are  drawing  largely  upon  the  reader's  faith.  But  either  her  present 
trial  of  character  was  peculiarly  fitted  to  her,  or  she  was  one  of  those  select 
I      spirits  who  are  purified  by  temptation. 

She  remembered  Garcia's  claims  upon  her  grandfather,  and  her  own  sup- 
posed obligations  to  Coronado.  She  informed  the  executors  that  she  wished  to 
make  over  half  her  property  to  the  old  man,  trusteeing  it  so  that  it  should  de- 
scend to  his  nephew.  Their  reply,  translated  from  roundabout  and  complimen- 
tary Spanish  into  plain  English,  was  this  :  "Yon  can't  do  it.  The  estate  is  not 
settled,  and  will  not  be  for  a  year.  Moreover,  you  have  no  power  to  part  with  it 
until  you  are  of  age,  which  will  not  be  for  three  years.  Finally,  your  proposi- 
tion defies  your  grandfather's  wishes,  and  it  is  altogether  too  generous." 

Clara's  simple  and  firm  reply  was,  "Well,  I  must  wait.  But  it  would  seem 
better  if  I  could  do  it  now." 
I  '  There  was  one  reason  why  Clara  should  be  so  calm  and  unselfish  in  her  ele- 
vation ;  her  sorrows  served  her  as  ballast.  Why  should  she  let  riches  turn  her 
head  when  she  found  that  they  could  not  lighten  her  heart?  There  was  a  cer- 
tain night  in  her  past  which  gold  could  not  illuminate  ;  there  had  once  been  a 
precious  life  near  her,  which  was  gone  now  beyond  the  power  of  ransom. 
Thurstane  !  How  she  would  have  lavished  this  wealth  upon  him.  He  would 
have  refused  it;  but  she  would  have  prayed  and  forced  him  to  accept  it;  she 
Y,  would  have  been  the  meeker  to  him  because  of  it.  How  noble  he  had  been  ! 
not  now  to  be  brought  back  !  gone  forever  !  And  his  going  had  been  like  the 
going  away  of  the  sun,  leaving  no  beautiful  color  in  all  nature,  no  guiding  light 
for  wandering  footsteps.  She  exaggerated  him,  as  love  will  exaggerate  the 
lost. 

Of  course  she  did  not  always  believe  that  he  could  be  dead,  and  in  her  hours 
of  hope  she  wrote  letters  inquiring  about  his  fate.     In  other  days  he  had  told  her 


tYO  OVERLAND. 

much  of  himself,  stories  of  his  childhood  and  his  battles,  the  number  of  his  old 
regiment  and  his  new  one,  titles  of  his  superiors,  names  of  comrades,  etc.  To 
which  among  all  these  unknown  ones  should  she  address  herself?  Siie  fixed  on 
the  commander  of  his  present  regiment,  and  tiiat  awfully  mysterious  personage 
the  Adjutant- General  of  the  army,  a  title  which  seemed  to  represent  omnis- 
cience and  omnipotence.  To  each  of  these  gentlemen  she  sent  an  epistle  re- 
counting where,  when,  and  how  Lieuten:int  Ralph  Thurstane  had  been  am- 
bushed by  unknown  Indians,  supposed  to  l)e  Apaches. 

These  letters  she  wrote  and  mailed  without  the  knowledge  of  Coronado. 
This  was  not  caution,  but  pity  ;  she  did  not  suspect  that  he  would  try  to  inter- 
cept them;  only  that  it  would  pain  him  to  learn  how  much  she  yet  lliouglit  of  his 
rival.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  cruel  to  show  them  to  him,  for  he  would  have 
seen  that  they  were  blurred  with  tears.  You  perceive  that  she  had  come  to  be 
tender  of  the  feelings  of  tiiis  earnest  and  scoundrelly  lover,  believing  in  his  sin- 
cerity and  not  in  his  villany. 

"Surely  some  of  those  people  will  know,"  thought  Clara,  with  a  trust  in  men 
and  dignitaries  which  makes  one  say  sancta  siinplicitas.  "If  they  do  not 
know,"  she  added,  with  a  prayer  in  her  heart,  "God  will  discover  it  to  them." 

But  no  answers  came  for  months.  The  colonel  was  not  wilh  his  regiment, 
but  on  detached  service  at  New  York,  whither  Clara's  letter  travelled  to  find 
him,  being  addressed  to  his  name  and  not  marked  "  Official  l)usiness."  What  he 
did  of  course  was  to  forward  it  to  the  Adjutant-General  of  the  army  at  Washing- 
ton. The  Adjutant-General  successively  filed  both  communications,  and  sent  a 
copy  of  each  to  headquarters  at  Santa  Fe  and  San  Francisco,  witli  an  endorse- 
ment advising  inquiries  and  suitable  search.  The  mails  were  slow  and  circui- 
tous, and  the  ofilicial  routine  was  also  slow  and  ciicuitous,  so  that  it  was  long  be- 
fore headquarters  got  the  papers  and  went  to  work. 

Does  any  one  marvel  that  Clara  did  not  go  directly  to  the  military  authorities 
in  the  city  ?  It  must  be  remembered  that  man  has  his  own  world,  as  woman  has 
hers,  and  that  each  sex  is  very  ignorant  of  the  spheres  and  missions  of  the  other, 
the  retired  sex  being  especially  limited  in  its  information.  The  girl  had  never 
been  told  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  district  headquarters,  or  that  soldiers  in 
San  Francisco  had  anything  to  do  with  soldiers  at  Fort  Yuma.  Nor  was  she  in 
the  way  of  learning  such  facts,  being  miles  away  from  a  uniform,  and  even  from  aa 
American. 

One  day,  when  she  was  fuller  of  hope  than  usual,  she  dared  to  write  to  that 
ghost,  Thurstane.  Where  should  the  letter  be  addressed  .-'  It  cost  her  much 
reflection  to  decide  that  it  ought  to  go  to  the  station  of  his  company.  Fort  Yuma. 
This  gave  her  an  idea,  and  she  at  once  penned  two  other  letters,  one  directed 
"To  the  Captain  of  Company  I,"  and  one  to  Sergeant  Meyer.  Bnt  unfortunate- 
ly those  three  epistles  were  not  sent  off  before  it  occurred  to  Coronado  that  he 
ought  to  overlook  the  packages  that  were  sent  from  the  hacienda  to  the  city. 
By  the  way,  he  had  from  the  first  assumed  a  secret  censorship  over  the  mails 
which  arrived. 

Meantime  he  also  had  his  anxiety  and  his  correspondence.  He  feared  lest 
Garcia  should  learn  how  things  had  been  managed,  and  should  hasten  to  San 
Francisco  to  act  henceforward  as  his  own  special  providence.  In  that  c,\se  there 
would  be  awkward  explanations,  there  would  be  complicated  and  perilous  plot- 
tings,  there  might  be  stahhings  or  poisonings.  Already,  as  soon  as  he  reached 
the  Mohave  valley,  he  ii.ad  written  one  cajoling  letter  to  his  uncle.  Scattered 
through  six  pages  on  various  affairs  were  underscored  phrases  and  words,  which, 
taken  in  sequence,  read  as  follows  : 


OVERLAND.  171 

"Things  have  gone  well  and  ill.  VVIiat  tvas  most  desinible  has  not  been 
fully  accomplished.  There  have  been  perils  and  deallis,  but  not  t!ie  one  re- 
quired. The  wisest  plans  have  been  foiled  by  unforeseen  circumstances.  The 
future  rests  upon  slow  poison.  A  few  weeks  more  will  suffice.  Do  not  come 
here.      It  would  rouse  suspicion.     Trust  all  to  me." 

Ho  now  sent  odier  letters,  reporting  tlie  progress  of  tlie  malady  caused  by 
the  poison,  urging  Garcia  to  remain  at  a  distance,  assuring  him  tliat  all  would  be 
well,  etc. 

"There  will  be  no  will,"  declared  one  of  these  lying  messengers.  "  If  tliere 
is  a  will,  you  will  be  the  inheritor.  In  all  events,  you  will  be  safe.  Rt-iy  upon 
my  judgment  and  fidelity." 

It  is  curious,  by  the  w.ay,  that  such  men  as  Coronado  and  Garcia,  knowing 
themselves  and  each  other  to  be  liars,  should  nevertheless  expect  to  be  believed, 
and  should  frequently  believe  each  other.  One  is  inclined  to  admit  tlie  seeming 
parado.x  that  rogues  are  more  easily  imposed  upon  than  honest  men. 

No  responses  came  from  Garcia.  But,  by  way  of  consolation,  Coronado  had 
Cl.ira's  correspondence  to  read.  One  day  this  hidalgo,  securely  locked  in  his 
room,  held  in  his  delicate  dark  fingers  a  letter  addressed  to  Miss  Clara  Van  Die- 
men,  and  postmarked  in  writing  "  Fort  Yuma."  Hot  as  the  day  was,  there  was 
a  brazier  by  his  side,  and  a  kettle  of  water  bubbling  on  the  coals.  He  held  the 
letter  in  the  steam,  softened  the  wafer  to  a  pulp,  opened  the  envelope  carefully, 
threw  himself  on  a  sofa,  scowled  at  tlie  beating  of  Ids  heart,  and  began  to  read. 

Before  he  had  glanced  tlirough  the  first  line  he  uttered  an  exclamation, 
turned  hastily  to  the  signature,  and  then  burst  into  a  stream  of  whispered  curses. 
After  he  had  blasphemed  himself  into  a  certain  degree  of  calmness,  he  read  the 
letter  twice  through  carefully,  and  learned  it  by  heart.  Then  he  thrust  it  deep 
into  the  coals  of  the  brazier,  watciied  it  steadily  until  its  slight  flame  had  flick- 
ered away,  liglited  a  cigarito,  and  meditated. 

This  epistle  was  not  the  only  one  that  troubled  him.  He  already  knew  that 
Clara  was  inquiring  about  this  man  of  whom  she  never  spoke,  and  conducting 
her  inquiries  with  an  intelligence  and  energy  which  showed  that  her  heart  was  in 
the  business.  If  things  went  on  so,  there  might  be  trouble  some  d.ay,  and  there 
migiit  be  punishment.  For  a  time  he  was  so  disturbed  that  he  felt  somewhat  as 
if  he  had  a  conscience,  and  might  yet  know  what  it  is  to  be  haunted  by  re- 
morse. 
r'  As  for  Clara,  he  was  furious  with  her,  notwithstanding  his  love  for  her,  and 
indeed  because  of  it.  It  was  outrageous  that  a  woman  whom  he  adored  should 
seek  to  ferret  out  facts  which  miglit  send  him  to  State's  Prison.  It  was  abomi- 
nable that  she  would  not  cease  to  care  for  that  stupid  officer  after  he  had  been  so 
I carefully  put  out  of  her  way.     Coronado  felt  that  he  was  persecuted. 

Well,  what  should  be  done  ?  He  must  put  a  stop  to  Clara's  inquiries,  and  he 
would  do  it  by  inquiring  himself.  Yes,  he  would  write  to  people  about  Thurs- 
lane,  slow  the  letters  to  the  girl  (but  never  send  them),  and  so  gradually  get  this 
sort  of  correspondence  into  his  own  hands,  when  he  would  drop  it.  She  would 
be  led  thereby  to  trust  him  the  more,  to  be  grateful  to  him,  perhaps  to  love 
him.  It  was  a  hateful  mode  of  carrying  on  a  courtship,  but  it  seemed  to  be  the 
best  that  he  had  in  his  power.  Having  so  decided,  this  master  hypocrite,  "  ful 
of  all  subtlety  and  wiles  of  the  devil,"  turned  his  attention  to  his  siesta. 

For  twenty  minutes  he  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just ;  then  he  was  awakened  by 
a  timid  knock  at  his  door.  Guessing  from  the  shyness  of  the  demand  for  en- 
trance that  it  came  from  a  servant,  he  called  pettishly,  "What  do  you  want? 
Go  away." 


172  OVERLAND. 

"1  must  see  you,"  answered  a  voice  whicli,  feeble  and  indistinct  as  it  was, 
took  Coronado  to  Uie  door  in  an  instant,  trembling  in  every  nerve  with  rage  and 
alarm. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Openixg  the  door  softly  and  with  tremulous  fingers,  Coronado  looked  out 
upon  an  old  gray-headed  man,  sliort  and  paunchy  in  build,  with  small,  tottering, 
uneasy  legs,  skin  molded  like  that  of  a  toad,  cheeks  drooping  and  shaking,  chin 
retiring,  nose  bulbous,  one  eye  a  black  hollow,  the  other  filmy  and  yet  shining, 
expression  both  dull  and  cunning,  both  eager  and  cowardly. 

The  uncle  seemed  to  be  even  more  agitated  at  tlie  sight  of  the  nephew  than 
the  nephew  at  the  sight  of  the  uncle.  For  an  instant  each  stared  at  the  otiier 
with  a  strange  expression  of  anxiety  and  mistrust.  Then  Coronado  spoke. 
The  words  which  he  had  in  his  heart  were.  What  are  you  here  for,  you  scoun- 
drelly old  marplot  .''  The  words  which  he  actually  uttered  were,  "  My  dear  uncle, 
my  benefactor,  my  more  than  parent !  How  delighted  I  am  to  see  you  !  Wel- 
come, welcome !  " 

The  two  men  grasped  each  other's  arms,  and  stuck  their  heads  over  each 
other's  shoulders  in  a  pretence  of  embracing.  Perhaps  there  never  was  any- 
thing of  the  kind  more  curious  than  the  contrast  between  their  affectionate  atti- 
tude and  the  suspicion  and  aversion  painted  on  their  faces. 

"  Have  you  been  seen  .'' "  asked  Coronado  as  soon  as  he  had  closed  and 
locked  the  door.  "  I  must  contrive  to  get  you  away  unperceived.  Why  have 
you  come  ?  My  dear  uncle,  it  was  the  height  of  imprudence.  It  will  expose 
you  to  suspicion.     Did  you  not  get  my  letters  .?" 

"  Only  one,"  answered  Garcia,  looicing  both  frightened  and  obstinate,  as  if 
he  were  afraid  to  stay  and  yet  determined  not  to  go.  "  One  from  the  Mohave 
valley." 

"  But  I  urged  you  in  that  to  remain  at  a  distance,  until  all  had  been 
arranged." 

"  I  know,  my  son,  I  know.  I  thought  like  you  at  first.  But  presently  I  be- 
came anxious." 

"Not  suspicious  of  my  good  faith!"  exclaimed  Coronado  in  a  horrified 
whisper.     "  Oh,  that  is  surely  impossible." 

"  No,  no — not  suspicious — no,  no,  my  son,"  chattered  Garcia  eagerly.  "  But 
I  began  to  fear  that  you  needed  my  help.  Things  seemed  to  move  so  slowly. 
Madre  de  Dios  !     All  across  the  continent,  and  nothing  done  yet." 

"  Yes,  much  has  been  done.  I  had  obstacles.  I  had  people  to  get  rid  o£ 
There  was  a  person  who  undertook  to  be  lover  and  protector." 

"  Is  he  gone  ?"  inquired  the  old  man  anxiously. 

"  Ask  no  questions.  The  less  told,  the  better.  I  wish  to  spare  you  all  re- 
sponsibility." 

"  Carlos,  you  are  my  son  and  heir.  You  deserve  everything  that  I  can  give. 
All  shall  be  yours,  my  son." 

•'That  Texas  Smith  of  yours  is  a  humbug,"  broke  out  Coronado,  his  mind 
reverting  to  the  letter  which  he  had  just  burned.  "  I  put  work  on  him  which  he 
swore  to  do  and  aid  not  do.     He  is  a  coward  and  a  traitor." 

"  Oh,  the  pig  !     Did  you  pay  him  ? " 

"  I  had  to  pay  him  in  advance — and  then  nothing  done  right,"  confessed 
Coronado. 


r 


OVERLAND.  173 

"Oh,  the  pig,  the  dog,  the  toad,  the  villanous  tond,  the  pig  of.hell!"  chat- 
tered Garcia  in  a  rage.     "  How  much  did  you  pay  him  ?     Five  hundred  dolhirs  ! 
Oil,  the  pig  and  the  dog  and  the  toad  !" 
r       "  Weil.  I  have  been  frank  witli  you,"  said  Coronado.     (He   had  diminished 
I  by  one  half  the  sum  paid  to  Texas  Smith.)     "  1  will  continue  to  be  frank.     You 
must  not  stay  here.     The  quesiion  is  how  to  get  you  away  unseen." 

'•■  It  is  useless ;  I  have  been  recognized,"  lied  Garcia,  who  was  determined 
/     not  to  go. 

"  All  is  lost !  "  exclaimed  Coronado.  "  The  presence  of  us  two — both  possi- 
ble  heirs — will  rouse  suspicion.     Nothing  can  be  done." 

But  no  intimidations  could  move  the  old  man  ;  he  was  resolved  to  stay  and 
oversee  matters  personally  ;  perhaps  he  suspected  Coronado's  plan  of  marrying 
Clara. 

*'  No,  my  son,"  he  declared.  "  I  know  better  than  you.  I  am  older  and 
know  the  world  better.  Let  me  stay  and  take  care  of  this.  What  if  I  am  sus- 
pected and  denounced  and  hung  ?     The  property  will  be  yours." 

"My  more  than  father  !  "  cried  Coronado.  "You  shall  never  sacrifice  your- 
self for  me.     God  forbid  that  I  should  permit  such  an  infamy  I  " 

"  Let  the  old  perish  for  the  young  !  "  returned  Garcia,  in  a  tone  of  meek 
obstinacy  which  settled  the  controversy. 

It  was  a  wonderful  scene  ;  it  was  prodigious  acting.  Each  of  these  men, 
while  endeavoring  to  circumvent  the  other,  was  making  believe  offer  his  life  as 
a  sacrifice  for  the  other's  prosperity.  It  was  amazing  that  neither  should  lose 
patience  ;  that  neither  should  say.  You  are  trying  to  deceive  me,  and  I  know  it. 
We  m.ay  question  whether  two  men  of  northern  race  could  have  carried  on  such 
a  dialogue  without  bursting  out  in  open  anger,  or  at  least  glaring  with  eyes  full 
j    of  suspicion  and  defiance. 

"You  will  find  her  changed,"  continued  Coronado,  when  he  had  submitted 
to  the  old  man's  persistence.  "  She  has  grown  thinner  and  sadder.  You  must 
not  notice  it,  however;  you  must  compliment  her  on  her  health." 

"  What  is  she  taking  ?"  whispered  Garcia. 

"  The  less  said,  the  better.  My  dear  uncle,  you  must  know  nothing.  Do 
not  talk  of  it.     The  walls  have  ears." 

"  I  know  something  that  would  be  both  safe  and  sure,"  persisted  the  old 
man  in  a  still  lower  whisper. 

"Leave  all  with  me,"  answered  Coronado,  waving  his  hand  authoritatively. 
"  Too  many  cooks  spoil  the  broth.     What  has  begun  well  will  end  well." 

After  a  time  the  two  men  went  down  to  a  shady  veranda  which  half  encircled 
the  house,  and  found  Mrs.  Stanley  taking  an  accidental  siesta  on  a  sort  of 
lounge  or  sofa.  Being  a  light  sleeper,  like  many  other  active-minded  people, 
she  awoke  at  their  approach  and  sat  up  to  give  reception. 

"  Mrs.  Stanley,  this  is  my  uncle  Garcia,  my  more  than  father,"  bowed  Coro- 
nado. 

"  I  :ave  not  forgotten  him,"  replied  Aunt  Maria,  who  indeed  was  not  likely 
to  forget  that  mottled  face,  dyed  blue  with  nitrate  of  silver. 

Warmly  shaking  the  puffy  hand  of  the  old  toad,  and  doing  her  very  best  to 
smile  upon  hi?Ti,  she  said,  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Gracia  .-'  I  hope  you  are  well. 
Mr.  Coronado,  do  tell  him  that,  a,nd  that  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  him." 

Garcia's  snaky  glance  just  rose  to  the  honest  woman's  face,  and  then  crawled 
nurriedly  all  about  the  veranda,  as  if  trying  to  hide  in  corners.  Thanks  to  Coro- 
nado's fluency  and  invention,  there  was  a   mutually  satisfactory  conversation 


174  OVERLAND. 

between  the  couple.  He  amplified  tlie  lady's  compliments  and  then  amplified 
the  Mexican's  compliments,  until  each  looked  upon  the  other  as  a  person  of  un  • 
usual  intelligence  and  a  fast  friend,  Aunt  Maria,  however,  being  much  tlie  more 
thoroughly  humbugged  of  the  two. 

"My  uncle  has  come  on  urgent  mercantile  business,  and  lie  crowds  in  a  few 
days  with  us,"  Coronado  presently  explained.  "  I  have  told  him  of  my  little 
cousin's  good  fortune,  and  he  is  delighted." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Stanlej\  "  What  an  excellent  old  man 
he  is,  to  be  sure  !  And  you  are  just  like  him,  Mr.  Coronado— just  as  good  and 
unselfish." 

"You  overestimate  me,"  answered  Coronado,  with  a  smile  which  was  almost 
ironical. 

Before  long  Clara  appeared.  Garcia's  eye  darted  a  look  at  her  wliich  was 
like  the  spring  of  an  adder,  dwelling  for  just  a  second  on  the  girl's  face,  and 
then  scuttling  off  in  an  uncleanly,  poisonous  way  for  hiding  corners.  He  saw 
that  she  was  thin,  and  believed  to  a  certain  extent  in  Coronado's  hints  of  poison, 
so  that  his  glance  was  more  cowardly  than  ordinary. 

Liking  the  man  not  overmuch,  but  pleased  to  see  a  face  which  had  been 
familiar  to  her  childhood,  and  believing  that  she  owed  him  large  reparation  for 
her  grandfather's  will,  Clara  advanced  cordially  to  the  old  sinner. 

"Welcome,  Senor  Garcia,"  she  said,  wondering  that  he  did  not  kiss  her 
cheek.  "  Welcome  to  your  own  house.  It  is  all  yours.  Whatever  you  choose 
is  yours." 

"  I  rejoice  in  your  good  fortune,"  sighed  Garcia. 

"  It  is  our  common  fortune,"  returned  Clara,  winding  her  arm  in  his  and 
Walking  him  up  and  down  the  veranda. 

"  May  God  give  you  long  life  to  enjoy  it,"  prayed  Garcia. 

"  And  you  also,"  said  Clara. 

Coronado  translated  lliis  conversation  as  fast  as  it  was  uttered  to  Mrs. 
Stanley, 

"This  is  the  golden  age,"  cried  that  enthusiastic  woman.  "You  Spaniards 
are  the  best  people  I  ever  saw.  Your  men  absolutely  emulate  women  in  unself- 
ishness." 

"We would  "do  it  if  it  were  possible,"  bowed  Coronado. 

"You  do  it,"  magnanimously  insisted  Aunt  I\Iaria,  who  felt  that  the  baser 
sex  ought  to  be  encouraged. 

"  Sefior  Garcia,  I  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  continued  Clara.  "You  must  charge 
all  the  costs  of  the  journey  overland  to  me." 

"  It  is  unjust,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  Madre  de  Dios  !  I  can  never  permit 
it." 

"  If  you  need  the  money  now,  I  will  request  my  guardians,  tlie  executors,  to 
advance  it,"  persisted  Clara,  seeing  that  he  refused  with  a  friint  heart. 

"  I  might  borrow  it,"  conceded  Garcia.  "  I  shall  have  need  of  money  pres- 
ently. That  journey  was  a  great  cost — a  terribly  bad  speculation,"  he  went  on, 
shaking  his  mottled,  bluish  head  wofully.     "  Not  a  piaster  of  profit." 

"  We  will  see  to  that,"  said  Clara.  "  And  then,  when  I  am  of  age — but 
wait." 

She  shook  her  rosy  forefinger  gayly,  radiant  with  the  joy  of  generosity,  and 
added,  "  You  shall  see.     Wait  !  " 

Coronado,  in  a  rapid  whisper,  translated  this  conversation  phrase  by  phrase 


f 


OVERLAND.  175 

to  Mrs.  Stanley,  liis  object  being  to  make  Clara'.s  promises  public  and  thus  en- 
gage lier  to  llicir  fuitilment. 

"Of  course  !  "  e.xcl.iimeil  the  impulsive  Aunt  Maria,  who  was  amazingly  gen- 
erous with  other  people's  money,  and  with  her  own  when  she  had  any  to  spare. 
"  Of  course  Clara  ought  to  pay.  It  is  quite  a  diflerent  thing  from  giving  up  her 
rights.  Certainly  she  must  pay.  That  train  did  nothing  but  bring  us  two 
women.  1  really  believe  Mr.  (larcia  sent  it  for  that  purpose  alone.  Besides, 
the  expense  won't  be  much,  I  suppose." 

"  No,"  said  Coronado,  and  he  spoke  the  exact  truth  ;  that  is,  supposing  an 
honest  balance.  The  expedition  proper  had  cost  seven  or  eight  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  about  two  thousand  more  had  been  sunk  in  assassination  fees  and 
other  ''  extras."  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  sold  his  wagons  and  beasts  at  the 
high  prices  of  California,  making  a  profit  of  two  thousand  dollars.  In  short, 
even  deducting  all  that  Coronado  meant  to  appropriate  to  himself,  Garcia  would 
obtain  a  small  profit  from  the- affair. 

Now  ensued  a  strange  underhanded  drama.  Garcia  stayed  week  after  week, 
riding  often  to  the  city  on  business  or  pretence  of  business,  but  pa.ssing  most  of 
his  time  at  the  hacienda,  where  he  wandered  about  a  great  deal  in  a  ghost-like 
manner,  glancing  slyly  at  Clara  a  hundred  times  a  day  without  ever  looking  her 
in  the  eyes,  and  haunting  her  steps  without  overtaking  or  addressing  her. 
Every  time  that  she  returned  from  a  ride  he  shambled  to  the  door  to  see  if  the 
saddle  were  empty.  During  the  night  he  hearkened  in  the  passages  for  out- 
cries of  sudden  illness.  And  while  he  thus  watched  the  girl,  he  was  himself  in- 
cessantly watched  by  his  nephew. 

"She  gets  no  worse,"  the  old  man  at  last  complained  to  the  younger  one. 
"  I  think  she  is  growing  fat." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  symptoms,"  replied  Coronado.  "  By  the  way,  there  is  one 
thing  which  we  ought  to  consider.     If  she  gives  you  half  of  this  estate ?" 

"-Madre  de  Dios  I  I  would  take  it  and  go.  But  she  cannot  give  until  she  is 
of  age.     And  meantime  she  m.ay  marry." 

He  glanced  suspiciously  at  his  nephew,  but  Coronado  kept  his  bland  compo- 
sure, merely  saying,  "  No  present  danger  of  that.     She  sees  no  one  l)ut  us." 

He  thought  of  adding,  "'Why  not  m.arry  her  yourself,  my  dear  uncle?" 
But  Garcia  might  retort,  "And  you  ?"  which  would  be  confusing. 

"Suppose  she  should  make  a  will  in  your  favor?"  the  nephew  preferred  to 
suggest. 

"  I  cannot  wait.  I  must  have  money  now.  Make  a  will?  Madre  de  Dios  ! 
She  would  outlive  me.     Besides,  he  who  makes  a  will  can  break  a  will." 

After  a  minute  of  anxious  thought,  he  asked,  "How  much  do  you  think  she 
will  give  me  ? " 

"  I  will  ask  her." 

"Not  /-rr,"  returned  Garcia  petulantly.  "Are  you  a  pig,  an  ass,  a  fool? 
Ask  the  old  one — the  duenna.  It  ouglit  to  be  a  great  deal  ;  it  ought  to  be  half 
— and  more." 

To  satisfy  the  old  man  as  well  as  himself,  Coronado  sounded  Mrs.  Stanley 
as  to  the  proposed  division. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  said  the  lady  empliatically.  "  Clara  must  do  something  for 
Garcia,  who  has  been  such  an  excellent  friend,  and  who  ought  to  have  been 
named  in  the  will.  But  you  know  she  has  her  duties  toward  herself  as  well  as 
toward  others.     Now  the  pr  <perty  is  not  a  million  ;    it  may  be  some  day  of 


I 


176  OVERLAND. 

other,  but  it  isn't  now.     The  executors  say  it  might  bring  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  in  ready  money." 

The  executors,  by  the  way,  had  been  sedulously  depreciating  the  value  of 
the  estate  to  Clara,  in  order  to  bring  clown  her  vast  notions  of  generositv. 

"Well,"  continued  Aunt  Maria,  "my  niece,  who  is  a  true  woman  and  mag- 
nanimous, wanted  to  give  up  half.  But  that  is  too  much,  I\Ir.  Coronado.  You 
see  money"  (here  she  commenced  on  something  which  she  had  read) — "  money  is 
not  the  same  thing  in  our  hands  that  it  is  in  yours.  Wiien  a  man  has  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  he  puts  it  into  business  and  doubles  it,  trel^les  it,  and 
so  on.  But  a  woman  can't  do  that ;  slie  is  trammelled  and  hampered  by  the 
prejudices  of  this  male  world  ;  she  has  to  leave  her  money  at  small  interest. 
If  it  doubles  once  in  her  life,  she  is  lucky.  So,  you  see,  one  half  given  to  Garcia 
would  be,  practicalli--  speaking,  much  more  than  half,"  concluded  Aunt  Maria, 
looking  triumphantly  through  her  argument  at  Coronado. 

The  Mexican  assented  ;  he  always  assented  to  whatever  she  advanced  ;  he 
did  so  because  he  considered  her  a  fool  and  incapable  of  reasoning.  Moreover, 
he  was  not  anxious  to  see  half  of  this  estate  drop  into  tlie  hands  of  Garcia,  ber, 
lieving  that  whatever  Clara  kept  for  herself  would  shortly  be  Iiis  own  by  right  of 
marriage. 

"You  are  the  greatest  woman  of  our  times,"  he  said,  stepping  backward  a 
pace  or  two  and  surveying  her  as  if  she  were  a  cathedral.  "  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  those  ideas.     You  ought  to  be  a  legislator  and  reform  our  laws." 

"I  never  had  a  doubt  that  j-ou  would  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Coronado,"  re- 
turned the  gratified  Aunt  Maria.  "  Well,  so  does  Clara ;  at  least  I  trust  so," 
she  hesitated.  "Now  as  to  tlie  sum  which  our  good  Garcia  should  receive.  I 
have  settled  upon  thirty  thousand  dollars.  In  his  hands,  you  know,  it  would 
soon  be  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand;  that  is  to  say,  practically  speaking,  it 
vrould  be  half  tlie  estate." 

"  Certainlj',"  bowed  Coronado,  meanwhile  thinking,  "  You  old  ass  !  "  "  And 
my  little  cousin  is  of  3'our  opinion,  I  trust?"  he  added. 

"Well — not  quite — as  yet,"  candidly  admitted  Aunt  Maria.  "But  she  is 
coming  to  it.     I  have  no  sort  of  doubt  tliat  she  will  end  there." 

So  Coronado  had  learned  nothing  as  yet  of  Clara's  opinions.  As  he  saun- 
tered awav  to  find  Garcia,  he  queried  whether  he  had  best  torment  him  with  this 
unauthorized  babble  of  Mrs.  Stanley.  On  the  whole,  yes  ;  it  might  bring  him 
clown  to  reasonable  terms  ;  the  rapacious  old  man  was  expecting  too  large  a  slice 
of  the  dead  Munoz.  So  he  told  his  tale,  giving  it  out  as  something  which  could 
be  depended  on,  but  increasing  the  thirty  thousand  dollars  to  fifty  thousand,  on 
his  own  responsibility.  To  his  alarm  Garcia  broke  out  in  a  venomous  rage,  call- 
ing everybody  pigs,  dogs,  toads,  etc.,  and  crying  and  cursing  alternately. 

"Fifty  thousand  piasters!"  he  squeaked,  tottering  about  the  room  on  his 
short  weak  legs  and  wringing  his  hands,  so  that  he  looked  like  a  fat  dog  walking 
on  his  hind  feet.  "Fifty  thousand  piasters  !  O  Madre  de  Dios  !  It  is  nothing. 
It  is  nothing.  It  will  not  save  me  from  ruin.  It  will  not  cover  my  debts.  T 
shall  be  sold  out.     I  nm  ruined.     Fifty  thousand  piasters  !     O  Madre  de  Dios  !  " 

Fifty  thousand  dollars  would  have  left  him  more  than  solvent ;  but  ten  times 
that  sum  would  not  have  satisfied  his  grasping  soul. 

Coronado  saw  that  he  had  made  a  blunder,  and  sought  to  rectify  it  by  lying 
copious!}'.  He  averred  that  he  had  been  merely  trying  his  uncle  ;  he  begged  his 
pardon  for  this  absurd  and  ill-timed  joke  ;  he  admitted  that  he  was  a  pig  and  a 
dog  and  everything  else  ignoble  ;  he  should  not  have  trifled  with  the  feelings  of 


OVERLAND.  177 

his  beneHxctor,  liis  more  tlun  father;  tliose  feelings  were  to  liim  sacred,  and 
should  be  held  so  henceforward  and  forever 

But  he  was  not  believed.  He  could  fool  the  old  man  sometimes,  but  not  on 
tliis  occasion.  Garcia,  greedy  and  an.xious,  apt  by  nature  to  see  tlie  dark  side 
of  things,  judged  that  the  tifty-thousand-dollar  story  was  the  true  one.  Although 
be  pretended  at  last  to  accept  Coronado's  explanation  for  fact,  he  remained  at 
bottom  unconvinced,  and  showed  it  in  his  swollen  and  trembling  visage. 

Thenceforward  the  nephew  watched  the  uncle  incessantly  ;  during  his  ab- 
sence he  stole  into  his  room,  opened  his  baggage,  and  examined  his  drawers, 
and  if  he  saw  him  near  Clara  at  table,  or  when  refreshments  were  handed  around, 
he  never  took  his  eyes  off  him. 

But  he  could  not  be  always  at  hand.  One  day  the  two  men  rode  to  the  city 
in  company.  Garcia  dodged  Coronado,  hastened  back  to  the  hacienda,  asked  to 
liave  some  chocolate  prepared,  poured  out  a  cup  for  Clara,  looked  at  her  eagerly 
while  she  drank  it,  and  then  fell  down  in  a  fit. 

An  hour  later  Coronado  returned  at  a  full  run,  to  find  the  old  man  just  recov- 
ering his  senses  and  Clara  alarmingly  ill. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Clara  had  been  taken  ill  while  waiting  on  the  unconcions  Garcia,  and  the 
attack  had  been  so  violent  as  to  drive  her  at  once  to  her  room  and  bed. 

The  first  person  whom  Coronado  met  when  he  reached  the  house  was  Aunt 
Maria,  oscillating  from  one  invalid  to  the  other  in  sucli  fright  and  confusion  that 
she  did  not  know  whether  she  was  strong-minded  or  not ;  but  thus  far  chiefly 
troubled  about  Garcia,  who  seemed  to  her  to  be  in  a  dying  state. 

"Your  uncle  !  "  she  exclaimed,  beckoning  wildly  to  Coronado  as  he  rushed 
in  at  the  door. 

"  I  know,"  he  answered  hastily.     "  A  servant  told  me.     How  is  Clara  .'" 

He  was  as  pale  as  a  man  of  his  dark  complexion  could  be.  Aunt  Maria 
caught  his  alarm,  and,  forgetting  at  once  all  about  Garcia,  ran  on  with  hira  to 
Clara's  room.  The  girl  was  just  then  in  one  of  her  spasms,  her  features  con- 
tracted and  white,  and  her  forehead  covered  with  a  cold  sweat. 

"What  is  it  ?"  whispered  Mrs.  Stanley,  clutching  Coronado  by  the  arm  and 
staring  eagerly  at  his  anxious  eyes. 

"  It  is — fever,"  he  returned,  making  a  great  effort  to  control  his  rage  and  ter- 
ror.    "Give  her  warm  water  to  drink.     My  God  !  give  her  something." 


178  OVERLAND. 

He  sent  three  servants  in  succession  to  search  for  tliree  different  pliysiciana 
swearing  at  them  violently  while  they  made  their  preparations,  telling  them  to 
ride  like  the  devil,  to  kill  their  horses,  etc.  When  he  returned  to  Clara's  room 
she  had  come  out  of  her  paroxysm,  and  was  feebly  trying  to  smile  away  Aunt 
Maria's  terrors. 

"My  cousin!"  he  whispered  in  unmistakable  anguish  of  spirit. 

"I  am  better,"  she  replied.     "Thank  you,  Coronado.     How  is  Garcia?" 

Coronado  looked  as  if  he  were  devoting  some  one  to  tlie  iiifeina!  furies  ;  but 
he  suppressed  his  emotion  and  replied  in  a  smothered  voice,  "1  will  go  and 
see." 

Hurrying  to  his  uncle's  room,  he  motioned  out  the  attendants,  closed  tlr" 
door,  locked  it.  and  then,  with  a  scowl  of  rage  and  alarm,  advanced  upon  the  irk- 
valid,  who  by  this  time  was  perfectly  conscious. 

''What  have  you  given  her  ?"  demanded  Coronado,  in  a  hoarse  mutter. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  stammered  the  old  man.  He  shut  his  one 
eve,  not  because  he  could  not  keep  it  open,  but  to  evade  the  conflict  whicii  was 
coming  upon  him. 

Taking  quick  advantage  of  the  closed  eye,  Coronado  turned  to  a  dressing- 
table,  pulled  out  a  drawer,  seized  a  key,  and  opened  Garcia's  trunk.  Before  the 
old  man  could  interfere,  the  younger  one  held  in  his  hand  a  paper  containing 
two  ounces  or  so  of  white  powder. 

"  Did  you  give  her  this  .^"  demanded  Coronado. 

Garcia  stared  at  the  paper  with  such  a  scared  and  guilty  face,  that  it  was 
equivalent  to  a  confession. 

Coronado  turned  away  to  hide  his  face.  There  was  a  strange  smile  upon  it  ; 
at  first  it  was  a  joy  which  made  him  half  angelic  ;  then  it  became  amusement. 
He  tottered  to  a  chair,  threw  himself  into  it  with  the  air  of  a  thoroughly  wearied 
man  who  finds  rest  delicious,  put  a  grain  of  the  powder  on  his  tongue,  and  then 
drew  a  long  sigh,  a  sigh  of  entire  relief. 

We  must  explain.  The  inner  history  of  this  scene  is  not  a  tragedy,  but  a 
farce.  For  two  weeks  or  more  Coronado  had  been  watcliing  his  uncle  day  and 
night,  and  at  last  had  found  in  his  trunk  a  paper  of  powder  which  he  suspected 
to  be  arsenic.  A  blunderer  would  have  destroyed  or  hidden  it,  thereby  warning 
Garcia  that  he  was  being  looked  after,  and  causing  him  to  be  more  careful 
about  his  hiding  places.  Coronado  emptied  the  paper,  snapped  off  every  grain 
of  the  powder  with  his  finger,  wiped  it  clean  with  his  handkerchief,  and  refilled 
it  with  another  powder.  The  selection  of  this  second  powder  was  another  piece 
of  cleverness.  He  had  at  hand  both  flour  and  finely  pulverized  sugar  ;  but  he 
wanted  to  learn  whether  Garcia  would  really  dose  the  girl,  and  he  wanted  a 


OVERLAND.  179 

chance  to  fit^liten  him  ;  so  lie  chose  a  substance  which  wouUl  be  harmless,  and 
yet  woukl  cause  illness, 

"You  will  he  hung,"  said  Coronado,  staring  sternly  at  his  uncle. 

•'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  mumbled  the  old  man,  trembling  all  over. 

"  What  a  fool  you  were  to  use  a  poison  so  easily  detected  as  arsenic  !  I  have 
sent  for  doctors.  They  will  recognize  her  symptoms.  You  prepared  the  choc- 
olate.    Here  is  the  arsenic  in  your  trunk.     You  will  be  hung." 

"Give  me  that  paper,"  whimpered  Garcia,  rising  from  his  bed  and  stagger- 
ing toward  Coronado.     "Give  it  to  me.     It  is  mine." 

Coronado  put  the  package  behind  him  with  one  hand  and  held  off  his  uncle 
with  the  other. 

"You  must  go,"  he  persisted.  "She  won't  live  two  hours.  Be  off  before 
you  are  arrested.  Take  horse  for  San  Francisco.  If  there  is  a  steamer,  get 
aboard  of  it.     Never  mind  where  it  sails  to." 

"Give  me  the  paper,"  implored  Garcia,  going  down  on  his  knees.  "O 
ATadte  de  Dios  !  My  head,  my  head  !  Oh,  what  extremities  !  Give  me  the 
paper.     Carlos,  it  was  all  for  your  sake." 

"Are  jou  going?"  demanded  Coronado. 

"  Oh  yes.     Madre  de  Dios  !     I  am  going." 

"Come  along.  By  the  back  way.  Do  you  want  to  pass  her  room  ?  Do  you 
want  to  see  your  work  ?  I  will  send  your  trunk  to  the  bankers.  Quit  California 
at  the  first  chance.     Quit  it  at  once,  if  you  go  to  China." 

As  Coronado  looked  after  the  flying  old  man  he  heard  himself  called  by  Mrs. 
Stanley,  who  was  by  this  time  in  great  terror  about  Clara,  trotting  hither  and 
thither  after  help  and  counsel. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Coronado,  do  come  !  "  she  urged.  Then,  catching  sight  of  the 
galloping  Garcia,  *'  But  what  does  that  mean  ?     Has  he  gone  mad  ?  " 

"Nearly,"  said  Coronado.  "I  brought  him  news  of  pressing  business. 
How  is  my  cousin  ?  " 

"Oh  dear!  I  am  terribly  alarmed.  Do  look  at  her.  Will  those  doctors 
never  come ! " 

Coronado,  who  had  been  a  little  in  advance  of  Mrs.  Stanley  as  they  hurried 
toward  Clara's  room,  suddenly  stopj^ed,  wheeled  alx>ut  with  a  smile,  seized  her 
hands,  and  shook  them  hearti'y. 

"I  have  it,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  fine  imitation  of  joyful  astonishment. 
"There  is  no  danger.  I  can  explain  the  whole  trouble.  My  poor  uncle  has 
tliese  attacks,  and  he  is  extravagantly  fond  of  chocolate.  To  relieve  the  attacks 
he  always  carries  a  paper  of  medicine  in  one  of  his  vest  pockets.  To  sweeten 
his  chocolate  he  carries  a  paper  of  sugar  in  the  companion  pocket.     You  maybe 


180  OVERLAND. 

sure  that  he  has  made  a  mistake  between  the  two.     He  has  dosed  CLira  with  his 
physic.     There  is  no  danger." 

He  laughed  in  the  most  natural  manner  conceivable  ;  tlien  he  ciiecked  him- 
self and  said:   "My  poor  little  cousin  !     It  is  no  joke  for  her." 

"  Certainly  not,"  snapped  Aunt  IMaria,  relieved  and  yet  angry.  "  How  ex- 
cessively stupid  !  Here  is  Clara  as  sick  as  can  be,  and  I  frightened  out  of  my 
senses.  Men  ought  not  to  meddle  with  cookery.  They  are  such  botches,  even 
in  their  own  business  !  " 

But  presently,  after  she  had  given  Coronado's  explanation  to  Clara,  and  the 
girl  had  laughed  heartily  over  it  and  declared  herself  much  better,  Aunt  Maria 
recovered  her  good  humor  and  began  to  pity  that  poor,  sick,  driven  Garcia. 

"The  brave  old  creature!"  she  said.  "Out  of  his  fits  and  off  on  his  busi- 
ness. I  must  say  he  is  a  wonder.  Let  us  liope  he  will  come  out  all  right,  and 
soon  return  to  us.  But  really  he  ought  to  be  seen  to.  He  may  fall  off  his  horse 
in  a  fit,  or  he  may  dose  somebody  dreadfully  willi  his  chocolate  and  get  taken  up 
for  poisoning.  Mr.  Coronado,  you  ouglit  to  ride  into  town  to-morrow  and  look 
after  him." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Coronado.  He  did  so,  and  returned  wilh  the  news  tliat 
Garcia  had  sailed  to  San  Diego,  having  been  summoned  back  to  .Santa  Fe'  by 
the  state  of  iiis  aflfiiirs.  That  day  and  the  niglit  following  he  slept  fourteen 
hours,  making  up  the  arrears  of  rest  which  he  had  lost  in  watcliing  his  uncle. 
Henceforward  he  was  easier  ;  he  had  a  pretty  clear  field  before  him  ;  tliere  was 
no  one  present  to  poison  Clara  ;  no  one  but  himself  to  court  her.  And  the 
courtship  went  forward  with  a  better  prospect  of  success  than  is  quite  agieeable 
to  contemplate. 

Coronado  and  Clara  were  Adam  and  Eve  ;  they  were  the  only  man  and 
woman  in  this  paradise.  People  thus  situated  are  claimed  by  a  being  whom 
most  call  a  goddess,  and  some  a  demon.  .She  is  protean  ;  she  is  at  once  an  in- 
variable formula  and  an  individual  caprice  ;  she  is  a  law  governing  the  univer- 
sal multitude,  and  a  passion  swaying  the  unit.  She  seems  to  be  under  an  im- 
pression that,  where  a  couple  are  left  alone  together,  they  are  the  last  relics  of 
the  human  race,  and  that  if  they  do  not  marry  the  type  will  perish.  Indifferent 
to  all  considerations  but  one,  she  puslies  them  toward  each  other. 

There  is  comparative  safety  from  her  in  a  crowd.  Bachelors  and  maidens 
who  mingle  by  hundreds  may  remain  bachelors  and  maidens.  But  pair  them  off 
in  lonely  places  and  see  if  the  result  is  not  amazingly  hymeneal.  A  fellow  who 
has  run  the  gauntlet  of  seven  years  of  paities  in  New  York  will  marry  the  first 
agreeable  girl  whom  he  meets  in  Alaska.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  leaving  the 
haunts  of  men  and  repairing  to  waste  places  to  find  a  husband.  We  are  told 
that  English  girls  have  reduced  this  to  a  system,  and  that  fair  archers  who  have 
failed  at  Brighton  go  out  to  hunt  successfully  in  India. 

Well,  Coronado  had  the  favoring  chances  of  solitude,  propinquity,  and  daily 
opportunity.  Seldom  away  from  Clara  for  a  day  together,  he  was  in  condition 
to  take  advantage  of  any  of  those  moods  wliicli  lay  woman  open  to  courtship, 
such  as  gratitude  for  attentions,  a  disgust  with  loneliness,  a  desire  for  something 
to  love.  It  was  a  great  thing  for  him  that  there  was  woik  about  the  hacienda 
which  no  woman  could  easily  do;  that  there  were  men  servants  to  govern, 
horses  to  be  herded,  valued,  and  sold,  and  lands  to  be  cultivated.  All  tliese 
male  mysteries  were  soon  handed  over  to  Coronado,  suliject  to  the  advice  of 
Aunt  Maria  and  the  final  judgment  of  Clara.  The  result  was  that  he  and  she  got 
into  a  way  of  frequently  discussing  many  things  which  threatened  to  habituate 
her  to  the  idea  of  being  at  one  with  him  throuo;h  life. 


OVKRLAXD.  181 

r"  H.ive  you  ever  watclieil  two  specks  floating  in  a  vessel  of  water  ?  For  a  long 
time  tliey  appro.icli  each  oilier  so  slowly  tii.it  tlie  movement  is  imperceptible  » 
but  at  last  tliey  are  s%iil»in  raiij^e  of  each  other's  majjnelism  ;  tliere  is  a  start,  a 
swift  rush,  and  they  are  together.  Tims  it  was  that  Clara  was  gently,  very 
gently,  and  unconsciously  to  herself,  approaching  Coronado.  A  mote  on  the 
wave  of  life,  she  was  subject  to  attraction,  as  all  of  us  motes  are,  and  this  mat) 
was  the  only  tractor  at  hand.  Aunt  Maria  did  not  count,  for  woman  cnnnot  ab- 
sorb woman.  As  to  Thurst:ine,  he  not  only  was  not  there,  but  he  was  not  any- 
)    where,  as  she  at  last  believed. 

Not  a  word  from  him  or  about  him,  except  one  letter  from  the  Adjutant-Gen- 
eial,  which  somehow  evaded  Coronado's  brazier,  gave  her  a  moment  of  choking 
Ijope  and  fear,  opened  its  white,  official  lips,  acknowledged  her  "communica- 
lion,"  and  stopped  there.  The  unseen  tragedies  in  which  souls  suffer  are  num- 
berless. Here  was  one.  The  girl  had  written  with  tears  and  heart-beats,  and 
dien  with  tears  and  heart-beats  liad  waited.  At  last  came  tlie  words,  "  I  have 
tiie  honor  to  acknowiedije,  etc.,  very  respectfully,  etc."  It  was  one  of  the  busi- 
ness-like fixcts  of  life  unknowingly  trampling  upon  a  bleeding  sentiment. 

Imagine  Clara's  agitations  during  this  long  suspense  ;  her  plans  and  hopes 
and  despairs  would  furnish  matter  for  a  library.  Tiiere  was  not  a  day,  if  indeed 
there  was  an  hour,  during  which  her  mind  was  not  the  theatre  of  a  dozen  dramas 
whereof  Tliurstane  was  the  hero,  either  triumphant  or  perishing.  They  were 
horribly  fragmentary;  they  broke  ofT  and  pieced  on  to  each  other  like  niglit- 
mares  ;  one  moment  he  was  rescued,  and  the  next  tomahawked.  And  tiiis  last 
fancy,  despite  all  her  struggles  to  hope,  was  for  the  most  part  victoriou.s. 
Meantime  Coronado,  guessing  her  sufferings,  and  suifering  horribly  himself  with 
jealousy,  talked  much  and  sympathetically  to  her  of  Thurstane.  So  much  did 
this  man  bear,  and  with  such  outward  sweetness  did  he  bear  it,  that  one  half 
longs  to  consider  him  a  martyr  and  saint.  Pity  that  his  goodness  should  not 
bear  dissection  ;  that  it  should  have  no  more  lite  in  it  than  a  stuffed  mannikin  ; 
that  it  should  be  just  fit  to  scare  crows  with. 

But  hypocrite  as  Coronado  was,  he  was  clever  enougli  to  win  every  day  more 
of  Clara's  confidence  ;  and  perhaps  she  might  have  walked  into  this  whited  sep- 
ulchre in  due  time  had  it  not  been  for  an  accioent.  Cantering  into  San  Francis- 
co to  hold  a  consultation  with  her  lawyer,  she  was  saluted  in  the  street  by  a 
United  States  officer,  also  on  horseback.  She  instinctively  drew  rein,  her  pulse 
throbbing  at  sight  of  tlie  uniform,  and  wild  hopes  beating  at  her  heart. 

"Miss  Van  Diemen,  I  believe,"  said  the  officer,  a  dark,  stout,  bold-looking 
trooper.  ''  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  reached  here  in  safety.  You  have  forgot- 
ten me.     I  am  Major  Robinson.' 

"I  remember,"  said  Clara,  who  had  not  recoMected  him  at  first  because  she 
•vas  looking  solely  for  Thurstane.     '*  You  passed  us  in  the  desert." 

"Yes.  I  took  your  soldiers  away  from  you,  and  you  declined  my  escort.  I 
A-a.>  anxious  about  you  afterwards.  Well,  it  h.is  ended  right  in  spite  of  me.  Of 
course  you  have  heard  of  Thurstane's  escape." 

"Escape  !"  exclaimed  Clara,  her  face  turning  scarlet  and  tiien  pale.  "Oh  ! 
tell  me  ! " 

The  major  stared.  He  had  guessed  a  love  aftair  between  these  two  ;  he  had 
inferred  it  in  the  desert  from  the  girl's  anxiety  about  the  young  man.  How 
came  it  that  she  knew  nothing  of  tlie  escape  ? 

"So  I  have  heard,"  he  went  on.  "I  think  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it. 
I  learned  it  from  a  civilian  who  left  Fort  Yuma  some  weeks  ago,     I  don't  think 


J  82  OVERLAND. 

lie  could  have  been  mistaken.  He  told  me  tliat  l)ie  lieotennnt  was  tT)ere  tliea 
Not  well,  I  am  sorry  to  say  ;  ratlier  broken  down  by  his  hardship.s.  Oh,  noth- 
ing serious,  you  know.  But  he  was  a  trifle  under  the  weather,  which  may  ac- 
count for  his  not  letting  his  friends  hear  from  him." 

At  the  story  that  Thurstane  was  alive,  all  Chora's  love  had  arisen  as  if  froir 
a  grave,  and  the  mightier  because  of  its  resurrection.  She  was  full  of  self- 
reproaches.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  neglected  him  ;  that  she  had  cruelly 
left  him  to  die.  Why  had  she  not  guessed  that  he  was  sick  there,  and  flown  to 
nurse  him  to  health  ?  Wliat  had  he  thought  of  her  conduct  ?  She  must  go  to 
him  at  once. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  can  tell  you  no  more,"  continned  the  major  in  re- 
sponse to  her  ea^er  gaze. 

"  I  am  so  obliged  to  you  !  "  gasped  Clara.  "  If  you  hear  anything  more, 
will  you  please  let  me  know  ?     Will  you  please  come  and  see  me  ?  " 

The  major  promised  and  took  down  her  address,  but  added  that  he  was  just 
starting  on  an  inspecting  tour,  and  that  for  a  fortnight  to  come  he  should  be 
able  to  give  her  no  further  information. 

They  had  scarcely  parted  ere  Clara  had  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  Fort  Yuma. 
The  moment  was  favorable,  for  slie  had  witli  her  an  intelligent  and  trustwortliy 
servant,  and  Coronado  had  been  summoned  to  a  distance  by  business,  so  that 
he  could  make  no  opposition.  She  hastened  to  her  lawyer's,  finished  her  afFiirs 
there,  drew  what  money  she  neeiled  tor  her  jouri>ey,  learned  that  a  brig  was 
about  to  start  for  the  Gulf,  and  sent  her  man  to  secure  a  passage.  When  he  re- 
p  turned  with  news  that  the  Lolotte  would  sail  next  day  at  noon,  she  decided  not 
to  go  back  to  the  hacienda,  and  took  rix>ms  at  a  hotel. 

What  would  people  say  ?  She  did  not  care  ;  she  was  going.  She  had  been 
womanish  and  timorous  too  long  ;  this  was  the  great  crisis  which  would  decide 
her  future  ;  she  niust  be  worthy  of  it  and  of />/>«.  Bat  remembering  Aunt  iMaria, 
she  sent  a  letter  by  messenger  to  tlve  hacienda,  explaining  that  pressing  busi- 
ness called  her  to  be  absent  f>r  some  weeks,  and  confessing  in  a  postscript  that 
her  business  referred  to  Lieutenant  Thurstane.  This  letter  brought  Coronado 
down  upon  her  next  morning.  Returning  home  unexpectedly,  he  learned  the 
news  from  his  friend  .Mrs.  Stanley,  and  was  hammering  at  Clara's  door  not  more 
than  an  hour  later,  all  in  a  tremble  with  an.xiety  and  rage. 

"This  must  not  be,"  he  stormed.  "  Such  a  journey  I  Twenty-five  hundred 
miles  I  And  for  a  man  who  has  not  deigned  to  write  to  you  !  It  is  degrading. 
I  will  not  have  it.     I  forbid  it." 

"Coronado,  stopl"  ordered  Clara  ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  stamped 
her  Utile  foot  at  him  ;  at  all  events  she  quelled  him  instantly. 

He  sat  down,  glared  like  a  mad  dog,  sprang  up  and  rushed  to  the  door, 
halted  there  to  stare  at  her  imploringly,  and  finally  muttered  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
"Well — let  it  be  .so — since  you  are  crazed.     But  1  shall  go  with  you." 

"  You  can  go,"  replied   Clara  haughtily,  after  meditating  for  some  seconds, 
during  which  he  looked  the  picture  of  despair.     "You  can  go,  if  you  wish  it." 
An  hour  later  she  said,  in  her  usually  gentle   tone,  "  Coronado,  pardon  me 
L  for  having  spoken  to  you  an<;rily.     You  are  kinder  than  I  deserve." 

The  reader  can  infer  from  this  .speech  how  humble,  helpful,  and  courteous 
the  man  had  been  in  the  mean  time.  Coronado  was  no  half-way  character  ;  if  he 
did  not  like  you,  he  was  the  fellow  to  murder  you  ;  if  he  decided  to  be  sweet, 
he  was  all  honey.  Perhaps  we  ought  to  ask  excuse  for  Clara's  tartness  by  ex- 
pLiining  that  she  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  anxiety,  remembering  that  RobinsQQ 


OVERLAND.  183 

had  hesitated  when  he  s:\id  Tliurstane  was  not  so  very  ill,  and  fearing  lest  he 
knew  worse  things  than  he  had  told. 

Meanwliile,  let  no  one  suppose  that  the  Mexican  meant  to  let  his  lady  love 
go  to  Kort  Yuma.  He  had  his  plan  for  stopping  her,  and  we  may  put  confi- 
dence enough  in  him  to  believe  that  it  was  a  good  one  ;  only  at  the  last  moment 
circumstances  turned  up  wliicii  decided  him  to  drop  it.  Yes,  at  the  last  mo 
nient,  just  as  lie  was  about  to  pull  ids  leading  strings,  he  saw  good  reason  foi 
wishing  her  far  away  from  San  Francisco. 

A  face  appeared  to  him  ;  at  the  first  glimpse  of  it  Coronado  slipped  into  the 
nearest  doorway,  and  from  that  moment  his  chief  anxiety  was  to  cause  the  girl 
to  vanisij.  Yes,  he  must  get  her  started  on  her  voyage,  even  at  the  risk  of  her 
continuing  it. 

"  Wiiat  the  devil  is  he  here  for?  "he  muttered.  "Has  he  found  out  that 
she  is  living  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII r. 

At  noon  the  Lolotte,  a  broad-beamed,  flat-floored  brig  of  light  draught 
and  good  sailing  qualities,  hove  uj)  her  anchor  and  began  beating  out  of  the 
Bav  of,San  Francisco,  with  Coronado  and  Clara  on  her  quarter-deck. 

"  You  have  no  other  passengers,  I  understood  you  to  say,  captain,"  observed 
Coronado,  who  was  anxious  on  that  point,  preferring  there  sh.ould  be  none. 

The  master,  a  Dane  by  birth  named  Jansen,  who  had  grown  up  in  the  Ameri- 
can mercantile  service,  was  a  middle-sized,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  a  red 
complexion,  red  whiskers,  and  a  look  which  was  at  once  grave  and  fiery.  He 
paused  in  his  heavy  lurching  to  and  fro,  looked  at  the  Mexican  with  an  air 
which  was  civil  but  very  stiff,  and  answered  in  that  discouraging  tone  with  which 
skippers  are  apt  to  smother  conversation  when  they  have  business  on  hand, 
"  Yes,  sir,  one  other." 

Coronado  presently  slippeil  down  the  companionway,  found  the  colored 
steward,  chinked  five  dollars  into  his  horny  palm,  and  said,  "  My  good  fellow, 
you  must  look  out  for  me  ;  I  shall  want  a  good  deal  of  help  during  the  passage." 

"  Yes,  sah,  very  good,  sah,"  was  the  answer,  uttered  in  a  greasy  chuckle, 
as  though  it  were  the  speech  of  a  slab  of  bacon  fat.  "  M  ke  you  up  any  little 
thing,  sah.     Have  a  sup  now,  sah  .'     Little  gruel  ?     Little  brof?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  returned  Coronado,  turning  half  sick  at  the  mention  of 
those  delicacie.s.  "  Nothing  at  present.  By  the  way,  one  of  the  staterooms  is 
occupied    I  see.     Who  is  the  other  passenger  ?" 

"  Duimo,  sah  ;  keeps  liisself  shut  up,  an'  says  nothin'  to  nobody.  'Pears  like 
he  is  sailin'  under  .secret  orders.     Cur'ous'  lookin'  old  gent ;  got  only  one  eye." 

One  eye  !  Coronado  thought  of  the  face  which  had  friglitened  him  out  of 
San  Francisco,  and  wondered  whether  he  were  shut  up  in  the  Lolotte  with  it. 

"One  eye?"  he  asked.  "  Short,  stout,  dark  old  gentleman?  Indeed!  I 
think  1  know  him." 

Stepping  to  the  door  of  a  stateroom  which  he  had  already  noticed  as  being 
kept  closed,  he  tapped  lightly.  There  v/as  a  muttering  inside,  a  shuffling  as  of 
some  one  getting  out  of  a  berth,  and  then  a  low  inquiry  in  Si)anish,  "  Who  is 
there?" 

"  Me.  sah."  returned  Coronado,  imitating,  and  imitating  perfectly,  the  accent 
of  the  steward,  who  meantime  had  gone  forward,  talking  and  sniggering  to  him- 
self, after  an  idiotic  way  that  he  had. 


184  OVERLAND 

The  door  opened  a  trifle,  and  Coronado  instantly  slipped  the  toe  of  his  little 
boot  into  the  crack,  at  the  same  time  saying  in  his  natural  tone,  "  My  dear 
uncle  !  " 

Seeing  that  he  was  discovered,  Garcia  gave  his  nephew  entrance,  closed  the 
door  after  him,  locked  it,  and  sat  down  trembling  on  the  edge  of  the  lower  berth, 
groaning  and  almost  whimpering,  "Ah,  my  son!  Ah,  my  dear  Carlos  !  Oh, 
what  a  life  1  have  to  lead  !  Madre  de  Dios,  what  a  life  !  I  thought  you  were 
one  of  my  creditors.     I  did  indeed,  my  dear  Carlos,  my  son." 

"  I  thought  you  went  back  to  Santa  Fd,"  was  Coronado"s  reply, 

"No,  I  did  not  go;  I  started,  but  1  came  back,"  mumbled  Garcia.  Then, 
plucking  up  a  little  spirit,  he  turned  his  one  eye  for  a  moment  on  his  nephew's 
face,  and  added,  "  Wiiy  should  I  go  to  Santa  F6  ?  I  had  no  business  there. 
My  business  is  here." 

"  But  after  your  attempt  at  the  hacienda  ?  " 

"  My  attempt  !  I  made  no  attempt.  All  that  was  a  mistake.  Because  I 
was  sick,  I  was  frightened  and  did  not  know  wiiat  to  do.  I  ran  away  because 
you  told  me  to  run.  I  had  given  her  nothing.  Yes,  I  did  put  sometliing  in  her 
chocolate,  but  it  was  my  medicine.  I  meant  to  put  in  sugar,  but  I  made  a  mis- 
take and  went  to  the  wrong  pocket,  the  pocket  of  my  medicine.  That  was  it, 
Carlos.     I  give  you  my  word,  word  of  a  hidalgo,  word  of  a  Christian." 

It  was  the  same  explanation  which  Coronado  had  invented  to  forestall  sus- 
picions at  the  hacienda.  It  was  surely  a  wonderful  coincidence  of  lying,  an(i 
shows  how  great  minds  work  alike.  Vexed  and  angry  as  the  nephew  was,  he 
could  scarcely  help  smiling. 

"  My  dear  uncle  !  "  he  exclaimed,  grasping  Garcia's  pudgy  hand  melodramati- 
cally.    "The  very  thing  that  occurred  to  me  !     I  told  tiiem  so." 

"Did  you?"  replied  the  old  man,  not  much  believing  it.  "Then  all  is 
well." 

He  wanted  to  ask  how  it  Avas  that  Clara  had  survived  her  dose  ;  but  of 
rourse  curiosity  on  that  subject  must  not  find  vent  ;  it  would  be  equivalent  to  a 
confession. 

"  Where  is  she  going?"  were  his  next  words. 

"To  Fort  Yuma." 

"  To  Fort  Yuma  !     What  for  ?  " 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  it,"  burst  out  Coronado  angrily.  "She  is  going  there  to 
aurse  that  officer.     He  escaped,  but  he  has  been  sick,  and  she  wzY/go." 

"  She    must   not  go,"   whispered   Garcia.      "  Oh,   the ."      And  here  he 

called  Clara  a  string  of  names  which  cannot  be  repeated.  "She  shall  not  go 
there,"  he  continued.     "  She  will   m;irry  him      Then  the  property  is  gone,  and 

we  are  ruined.     Oh,  the ."     And   tlien   came   another  assortment  of  violent 

and  vile  epithets,  such  as  are  not  found  ii>  dictionaries. 

Coronado  was  anxious  to  divert  and  dissipate  a  rage  wl?ich  mi^ht  make 
trouble  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  could  get  in  a  word,  he  asked,  "  But  what  have  you 
been  doing,  my  uncle  ?" 

By  dint  of  questioning  and  guessinj;  he  made  out  the  story  of  the  old  man's 
adventures  since  leaving  the  hacienda.  Garcia,  in  extremfe  terror  of  hanging, 
had  gone  straight  to  San  Francisco  and  taken  passage  for  San  Diego,  with  the 
intention  of  not  stopping  until  he  should  be  at  least  as  far  away  as  Santa  F^ 
But  after  a  few  hours  at  sea,  he  had  recovered  his  wits  and  his  courage,  and 
asked  himself,  why  should  he  fly  ?  If  Clara  died,  the  property  would  be  his, 
and  if  she  survived,  he  ought  to  be  near  her  ;  while  as  for  Carlos,   he  would 


0\'ERLAND.  185 

surely  never  expose  and  hang  a  man  wlio  couKl  cut  Iiini  off  with  a  sliilling.  So 
he  landed  at  Monterey,  took  tiie  I'list  coaster  back  to  San  Francisco,  lurked 
about  tlie  city  until  he  learned  that  the  girl  was  still  livinjj,  and  was  just  about 
to  put  a  bold  front  on  the  matter  by  ^oinj^  to  see  her  at  the  hacienda,  when  he 
learned  accidentally  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  voyaging  southward.  Puzzled 
and  alarmed  by  this,  he  resolved  to  accompany  her  in  her  wanderings,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  himself  quietly  on  board  the  Lolotte. 

"WoU,  let  us  go  on  deck,"  said  Coronado,  when  the  old  man  had  regained 
his  tranquillity.  "  But  let  us  be  gentle,  my  uncle.  We  know  how  to  govern 
ourselves,  I  hope.  You  will  of  course  beiiave  like  a  mother  to  our  little  cousin. 
Congratulate  her  on  her  recovery;  apologize  for  your  awkward  mistake.  It 
was  caused  by  tiie  coming  on  of  the  fit,  you  remember.  A  man  who  is  a'.ioul  to 
have  an  attack  of  epilepsy  can't  of  course  tell  one  pocket  from  another.  But 
such  a  man  is  all  the  more  bound  to  be  unctuous." 

Clara  received  the  old  man  cordially,  although  she  would  have  preferred  not 
to  see  him  there,  fearing  lest  he  should  oppose  her  nursing  project.  But  as 
nothing  was  said  on  this  matter,  and  as  Garcia  put  his  least  cloven  foot  fore- 
most, the  trio  not  only  got  on  amicably  together,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  one  an- 
other's society.  Tiiis  was  no  common  feat  by  the  way  ;  each  of  the  tiiree  had  a 
great  load  of  anxiety  ;  it  was  wonderful  that  they  should  not  show  it.  Coronado, 
for  instance,  while  talking  like  a  bird  song,  was  planning  how  he  could  get  rid 
of  Garcia,  and  carry  Clara  back  to  San  Francisco.  The  idea  of  pushing  the  old 
man  overboard  was  inadmissible;  but  could  he  not  scare  him  ashore  at  the 
next  port  by  stories  of  a  leak?  As  for  Clara,  he  could  not  imagine  how  to 
manage  her,  she  was  so  potent  with  her  wealth  and  with  her  beauty.  He  was 
^ still  thinking  of  these  things,  and  prattling  mellifluously  of  quite  other  things, 
when  the  Lolotte  luffed  up  under  the  lee  of  the  little  island  of  Alcatraz. 

*'  What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  asked,  looking  suspiciously  at  the  fortifications, 
with  the  American  flag  waving  over  them. 

''Stop  here  to  take  in  commissary  stores  for  Fort  Yuma,"  explained  the 
I  tl'.in.  sallow,  grave,  meek-looking,  and  yet  resolute  Yankee  mate. 

The  chain  cable  rattled  through  the  hawse  hole,  and  in  no  loug  •while  the  load- 
ing commenced,  lasting  until  nightfall.  During  this  time  Coronado  chanced  to 
learn  that  an  officer  was  expected  on  board  who  would  sail  as  far  as  San  Diego  ; 
and,  as  all  unitorms  were  bugbears  to  him,  he  watclied  for  the  new  passenger 
with  a  certain  amount  of  anxiety;  taking  care,  by  the  way,  to  say  nothing  of  him 
to  Clara.  About  eight  in  the  evening,  as  the  girl  was  playing  some  trivial  game 
of  cards  with  Garcia  in  the  cabin,  a  splashing  of  oars  alongside  calleil  Corona  lo 
on  deck.  It  was  already  dark  ;  a  sailor  was  standing  by  the  manropes  with  a 
lantern  ;  the  captain  was  saying  in  a  grumbling  tone,  "  Very  late,  sir." 

"Had  to  wait  for  orders,  captain,"  returned  a  healthy,  ringing  young  voice 
which  struck  Coronado  like  a  shot. 

"  Orders  !  "  muttered  tiie  skipper.  '•  Why  couldn't  they  have  had  them 
ready  ?     Here  we  are  going  to  have  a  southeaster." 

Tiiere  was  anxiety  as  well  as  impatience  in  his  voice  ;  but  Coronado  just 
now  could  not  think  of  tempests  ;  his  whole  soul  was  in  his  eyes.  The  next  in- 
stant he  behelil  in  ihe  ruddy  light  of  the  lantern  the  fiice  of  the  man  who  was 
his  evil  genius,  the  man  whose  death  he  had  so  long  plotted  for  and  for  a  time 
believed  in,  the  man  wiio,  as  he  feared,  would  yet  punish  him  for  his  misdeeds. 
He  was  so  thoroughly  beaten  and  cowed  by  the  sight  that  he  made  a  step  or  two 
toward  the  companionway,  with  the  purpose  of  hiding  in  the  cabin.  Then  des- 
peration gave  him  courage,  and  he  walked  straight  up  to  Thurstane. 


r 


186  OVERIAND. 

"My  dear  Lieutenant!"  lie  cried,  trying  to  seize  tlie  young  fellows  liand. 
"Once  more  welcome  to  life  !  What  a  wonder  !  Another  escape.  You  are  a 
second  Orlando — almost  a  Don  Quixote.  And  where  are  your  two  Sancho 
Panzas  ?  " 

"  You  here  !  "  was  Thurstane's  grim  response,  and  he  did  not  take  the  prof- 
fered hand. 

"Come  !  "  implored  Coronado,  stepping  toward  the  waist  of  the  vessel  and 
away  from  the  cabin.  "This  way,  if  you  please,"  he  urged,  beckoning  earnest- 
y.     "  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you  in  private." 

Not  a  tone  of  this  conversation  had  been  heard  below.  Before  the  boat  had 
touclied  the  side  the  crew  were  laboring  at  the  noisy  windlass  with  their  shouts 
of  "  Yo  heave  ho!  heave  and  pawl!  heave  hearty  ho!"  while  the  mate  was 
screaming  from  the  knight-heads,  "  Heave  hearty,  men — heave  hearty.  Heave 
and  raise  the  dead.     Heave  and  away." 

Amid  this  uproar  Coronado  continued:  "  You  won't  shake  hands  with  me, 
Lieutenant  Thurstane.  As  a  gentleman,  speaking  to  another  gentleman,  1  ask 
an  explanation." 

Thurstane  hesitated  ;  he  had  ugly  suspicions  enough,  but  no  proofs  ;  and  if 
he  could  not  prove  guilt,  he  must  not  charge  it. 

"Is  it  because  we  abandoned  you.'"  demanded  Coronado.  "We  had  rea- 
son. We  heard  that  you  were  dead.  The  muleteers  reported  Apaciies.  I 
feared  for  the  safety  of  the  ladies.  I  pushed  on.  You,  a  gentleman  and  an  offi- 
cer— what  else  would  you  have  advised  ?" 

"Let  it  go,"  growled  Thurstane.  "Let  that  pass.  I  won't  talk  of  it — nor 
of  other  things.  But,"  and  here  he  seemed  to  sliake  with  emotion,  "  I  want 
nothing  more  to  do  with  you— you  nor  your  family.  I  have  had  suffering 
enough." 

"  Ah,  it  is  with  her  that  you  quarrel  rather  than  with  me,"  inferred  Coronadc 
impudently,  for  he  had  recovered  his  self-possession.  "Cert;rinly,  my  poor 
Lieutenant !  You  have  reason.  But  remember,  so  has  she.  She  is  enormous- 
ly rich  and  can  have  any  one.     That  is  the  way  these  women  understand  life." 

"You  will  oblige  me  by  saying  not  another  word  on  that  subject,"  broke  in 
Thurstane  savagelj'.  "  I  got  her  letter  dismissing  me,  and  I  accepted  my  fate 
without  a  word,  and  I  mean  never  to  see  her  again.     I  hope  that  satisfies  you." 

"My  dear  Lieutenant,"  protested  Coronado,  "you  seem  to  intimate  that  I 
influenced  her  decision.  I  beg  you  to  believe,  on  my  word  of  honor  as  a  gentle- 
man, that  I  never  urged  her  in  any  way  to  write  that  letter." 

"Well — no  matter — I  don't  care,"  replied  the  young  fellow  in  a  voice  like 
one  lono-  sob.  "  I  don't  care  whether  you  did  or  not.  The  moment  she  could 
write  it,  no  matter  how  or  why,  that  was  enough.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  left  alone — 
to  hear  no  more  of  her." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  speak  to  you  of  her,"  said  Coronado.     "  She  is  aboard. 

"  Aboard  !  "  exclaimed  Tlmrstane,  and  he  made  a  step  as  if  to  reach  the 
shore  or  to  plunge  into  the  sea. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  Coronado,  with  a  simplicity  which  seemed  like 
sincerity.     "  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  warn  you." 

"I  cannot  go  back,"  groaned  the  young  fellow.  "  I  must  go  to  San  Diego. 
I  am  under  orders." 

"You  must  avoid  her.  Go  to  bed  late.  Get  up  early.  Keep  out  of  het 
way." 

Turning  his  back,  Thurstane  walked  away  from  this  cruel  and  hated  counsel 


c 


OVERLAND.  187 

lor,  not  thinking  at  all  ;)f  him  however,  but  rather  of  the  deep  beneath,  a  refuge 
from  trouble. 
r        We  must  slip  back  to  his  last  adventure  with  Texas  Smith,  and  learn  a  little 
^    of  what  happened  to  him  then  and  up  to  the  jMesent  time. 

It  will  be  remembered  how  the  bushwhacker  sat  in  ambush  ;  how,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  fire  at  his  proposed  victim,  his  horse  whinnied  ;  and  how  this 
whinny  caused  Thurstane's  mule  to  rear  suddenly  and  violently.  The  rearing 
saved  the  rider's  life,  for  the  bullet  which  was  meant  for  the  man  buried  itself  in 
the  forehead  of  tlie  beast,  and  in  the  darkness  the  assassin  did  not  discover  his 
error.  But  so  severe  was  the  f.ill  and  so  -jreat  Thurstane's  weakness  that  he 
lost  his  senses  and  did  not  come  to  himself  until  daybreak. 

There  he  was,  once  more  al)andoned  to  tlie  desert,  but  rich  in  a  full  haver- 
sack and  a  dead  mule.  Having  breakfasted,  and  thereijy  given  head  and  hand  a 
little  strength,  he  set  to  work  to  provide  for  the  future  by  cutting  slices  from  the 
carcass  and  spreading  them  out  to  dry,  well  knowing  that  this  land  of  desolation 
could  furnish  neither  wolf  nor  bird  of  prey  to  rob  his  larder.  This  work  done, 
he  pushed  on  at  his  best  speed,  found  and  ted  his  companions,  and  led  them  back 
to  the  mule,  their  storehouse.  After  a  day  of  rest  and  feasting  came  a  march  to 
the  Cactus  Pass,  where  tiie  tliree  were  presently  picked  up  by  a  caravan  bound 
to  .Santa  Fe,  wiiich  carried  them  on  for  a  number  of  days  until  they  met  a  train 
of  emigrants  going  west.  Thus  it  was  that  Glover  reached  California,  and 
Thurstane  and  Sweeny  Fort  Yuma. 

Once  in  quiet,  the  young  fellow  broke  down,  and  for  weeks  was  too  sick  to 
write  to  Clara,  or  to  any  one.  As  soon  as  he  could  sit  up  he  sent  ofl' letter  after 
letter,  but  after  two  months  of  anxious  suspense  no  answer  had  come,  and  he 
began  to  fear  that  she  had  never  reached  San  Francisco.  At  last,  when  he  was 
[half  sick  again  with  worrying,  arrived  a  horrible  epistle  in  Clara's  hand  and 
signed  by  her  name,  informing  him  of  her  monstrous  windfall  of  wealth  and  ter- 
minating the  engagement.  The  crudest  thing  in  this  cruel  forgery  was  the  sen- 
tence, '"Do  you  not  think  that  in  paying  courtship  to  nie  in  the  desert  you  took 
unfiiir  advantage  of  my  loneliness  ?" 

She  had  trampled  on  his  heart  and  flouted  his  honor;  and  while  he  writhed 
J_wilh  grief  he  writhed  also  with  rage.  He  could  not  understand  it ;  so  different 
from  wiiat  she  had  seemed  ;  so  unworthy  of  what  he  h.td  believed  her  to  be  ! 
Well',  her  head  had  been  turned  by  riches  ;  it  was  just  like  a  woman  ;  they  were 
all  thus.  Thus  said  Thurstane,  a  fellow  as  ignorant  of  the  female  kind  as  any 
man  in  the  army,  and  scarcely  less  ignorant  than  the  average  man  of  the  navy. 
He  declared  to  himself  that  he  would  never  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her, 
nor  with  any  of  her  false  sex.  At  twenty-three  he  turned  woman-hater,  just  as 
Mrs.  Stanley  at  forty-five  had  turned  man-hater,  and  perhaps  for  much  the  same 
_^sort  of  reason. 

Shortly  after  Thurstane  had  received  what  he  called  his  cashiering,  his  com- 
pany was  ordered  from  Fort  Yuma  to  San  Francisco.  It  had  garrisoned  the 
Alcatraz  fort  only  two  days,  and  he  had  not  yet  had  a  chance  to  visit  the  city, 
when  he  was  sent  on  this  expedition  to  San  Diego  to  hunt  down  a  deserting 
quartermaster-sergeant.  The  result  was  that  he  found  himself  shipped  for  a 
three  days'  voyage  with  the  woman  who  had  made  him  first  the  happiest  man  in 
the  army  and  then  the  most  miserable. 

How  should  he  endure  it  }  He  would  not  see  her  ;  the  truth  is  that  he  could 
not  endure  tlie  trial  ;  but  what  he  said  to  himself  was  that  he  would  not.  In 
the  darkness  tears  forced  their  way  out  of  his  eyes  and  mingled  with  the  spray 


188  OVERLAND. 

which  tlie  wind  was  already  flinging  over  the  Lows.  Crjing!  Tliiee  months 
ago,  if  any  man  had  told  him  that  he  was  capable  of  it,  he  would  have  considered 
himself  insulted  and  would  have  felt  like  fighting.  Now  he  was  not  even 
ashamed  of  it,  and  would  hardly  have  been  ashamed  if  it  had  been  daylight. 
He  was  so  thoroughly  and  hopelessly  miserable  that  he  did  not  care  what  figure 
he  cut. 

But,  once  more,  what  should  he  do  ?  Oh,  well,  he  would  follow  Coronado's 
advice;  yes,  damn  him  !  follow  the  scoundrel's  advice  ;  he  could  think  of  noth- 
ing for  himself.  He  would  stay  out  until  late;  then  he  would  steal  below  and 
go  to  bed  ;  after  that  he  would  keep  his  stateroom.  However,  it  was  unpleasant 
to  remain  where  he  was,  for  the  spray  was  beginning  to  drench  the  waist  as  well 
as  the  forecastle;  and,  the  quarter-deck  being  clear  of  passengers,  he  staggered 
thither,  dropped  under  the  starboard  bulwark,  rolled  himself  in  his  cloak,  and  lay 
brooding. 

Meanwhile  Coronado  had  amused  Clara  below  until  he  felt  seasick  and  had 
to  take  to  his  berth.  Escaping  thus  from  his  duennaship,  she  wanted  to  see  a 
storm,  as  she  called  the  half-gale  which  was  blowing,  and  clambered  bravely 
alone  to  the  quarter-deck,  where  the  skipper  took  her  in  charge,  showed  her  the 
compass,  walked  her  up  and  down  a  little,  and  finally  gave  her  a  post  at  the  foot 
of  the  shrouds.  Thurstane  li  1 1  recognize!  her  by  the  light  of  the  binnacle,  and 
once  more  he  thought,  as  weakly  as  a  scared  child,  "What  shall  I  do  ?"  After 
hiding  his  face  for  a  moment  he  uncovered  it  desperately,  resolving  to  see 
whether  she  would  speak.  She  did  look  at  him  ;  she  even  looked  steadily  and 
sharply,  as  if  in  recognition  ;  but  after  a  while  she  turned  tranquilly  away  to  gaze 
at  the  sea. 

Forgetting  that  no  lamp  was  shining  upon  him,  and  that  she  probably  had 
no  cause  for  expecting  to  find  him  here,  Thurstane  believed  that  she  had  discov- 
ered who  he  was  and  that  her  mute  gesture  confirmed  his  rejection.  Under  this 
throttling  of  his  last  hope  he  made  no  protest,  but  silently  wished  himself  on  the 
battle-field,  falling  with  his  face  to  the  foe.  For  several  minutes  they  remained 
thus  side  by  side. 

The  Lolotte  was  now  well  at  sea,  the  wind  and  waves  rising  rapidly,  the  mo- 
tion already  considerable.  Presently  there  was  an  order  of  "  Lay  aloft  and  furl 
the  skysails,"  and  then  short  shouts  resounded  from  the  darkness,  showing  that 
the  work  was  being  done.  But  in  spite  of  this  easing  the  vessel  labored  a  good 
deal,  and  heavy  spurts  of  spray  began  to  fly  over  the  quarter-deck  rail. 

"  I  think.  Miss,  you  had  better  go  below  unless  you  want  to  get  wet,"  ob- 
served the  skipper,  coming  up  to  Clara.  "  We  shall  have  a  splashing  night  of 
it." 

Taking  the  nautical  arm,  Clara  slid  and  tottered  away,  leaving  Thurstane  ly- 
ing on  the  sloppy  deck. 


CHAPTER  XXXLX. 

Had  Clara  recognized  Thurstane,  she  would  have  thrown  herself  into  his 
arms,  and  he  would  hardly  have  slept  that  night  for  joy. 

As  it  was,  he  could  not  sleep  for  misery  ;  festering  at  heart  because  of  that 
letter  of  rejection  ;  almost  maddened  by  his  supposed  discovery  that  she  would 
not  speak  to  him,  yet  declaring  to  himself  that  he  never  would  have  married 
her,  because  of  her  money;  at  the  same  time  worshipping  and  desiring  her  with 


OVERLAND.  189 

passion  ;  longing  to  die,  but  longing  to  die  for  her  ;  half  enraged,  and  allogelher 
wrelched. 

Meantime  the  southeaster,  dead  ahead  and  blowing  harder  every  minute,  was 
sending  its  seas  furtlier  and  further  aft.  He  left  his  wet  berth  on  the  deck, 
reeled,  or  ratiier  was  flung,  to  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  lodged  himself  between 
the  little  wiicel-house  and  tiie  taffrail,  and  watched  a  scene  in  consonance  with 
his  feelings.  Innumerable  twinklings  of  stars  faintly  illuminated  a  cloudless, 
serene  heaven,  and  a  foaming,  plunging  ocean.  The  slender,  dark  outlines  of 
the  sailless  upper  masts  were  leaning  sharply  over  to  leeward,  and  describing 
what  seemed  like  mystic  circles  and  figures  against  the  lighter  sky.  The  crests 
of  seas  showed  with  ghostly  whiteness  as  they  howled  themselves  to  death  near 
by,  or  dashed  with  a  jar  and  a  hoarse  wiiistle  over  the  bulwarks,  slapping  against 
the  sails  and  pounding  upon  the  decks.  The  waves  which  struck  the  bows 
every  few  seconds  gave  forth  sounds  like  the  strokes  of  Thor's  hammer,  and 
made  everything  tremble  from  cathead  to  sternpost. 

Every  now  and  then  there  were  hoarse  orders  from  tlie  captain  on  the  quar- 
ter-deck, echoed  instantly  by  sharp  yells  from  the  mate  in  the  waist.  Now  it 
was,  '■  Lay  aloft  and  furl  the  fore  royal  ;  "  and  ten  minutes  later,  "  Lay  aloft  and 
furl  the  main  royal."  Scarcely  was  tliis  work  done  before  the  shout  came,  ''  Lay 
aloft  and  reef  the  fore-t'galiant-s'i ;"  followed  almost  immediately  by  "  Lay  aloft 
and  reef  the  niain-t'gallant-s'l."  Ne.\t  came,  "  Lay  out  forrard  and  furl  llie  fly- 
ing jib."  Each  command  was  succeeded  by  a  silent,  dark  darling  of  men  into 
the  rigging,  and  presently  a  trampling  on  deck  and  a  sliort,  sharp  singing  out  at 
the  ropes,  with  cries  from  alo!l  of  "Haul  out  to  leeward;  taut  hand;  knot 
away." 

Under  the  reduced  sail  the  brig  went  easier  for  a  while  ;  but  the  half  gale 
had  made  up  its  mind  to  be  a  hurricane.  It  was  blowing  more  savagely  every 
second.  One  after  another  tiie  topgallant  sails  were  double-reefed,  close-reefed, 
and  at  last  furled.  The  watch  on  deck  had  its  hands  full  to  accomplish  this 
work,  so  powerfully  did  the  wind  drag  on  the  canvas.  Presently,  far  away  for- 
ward— it  seemed  on  board  some  other  craft,  so  faint  was  the  sound — there  came 
a  bang,  bang,  bang  !  on  tlie  scuttle  of  the  forecastle,  and  a  hollow  shout  of  "All 
hands  reef  tops'ls  ahoy  ! " 

Up  tumbled  the  "starbowlines,"  or  starboard  watch,  and  joined  the  "  lar- 
bowlines"in  the  struggle  with  the  elements.  No  more  sleep  that  night  for 
man,  boy.  mate,  or  master.  Reef  after  reef  was  taken  in  the  topsails,  until 
they  were  two  long,  narrow  shingles  of  canvas,  and  still  the  wind  brought  the 
vessel  well  down  on  her  beam  ends,  as  if  it  would  squeeze  her  by  main  force 
under  water.  The  men  were  scarcely  on  deck  from  their  last  reefing  job,  when 
boom  !  went  the  jib,  bursting  out  as  if  shot  from  a  cannon,  and  then  wliipping 
itself  to  tatters. 

"  Lay  out  forrard  !  "  screamed  the  mate.     "  Lay  out  and  furl  it." 

After  a  desperate  struggle,  half  the  time  more  or  less  under  water,  two  men 
dragged  in  and  fastened  the  fragments  of  the  jib,  while  others  set  the  foretop- 
mast  staysail  in  its  place.  But  the  wind  was  full  of  mischief;  it  seemed  to  be 
playing  with  the  ship's  company;  it  furnished  one  piece  of  work  after  another 
with  dizzying  rapidity.  Hardly  was  the  jib  secured  before  the  great  mainsail 
ripped  open  from  top  to  bottom,  and  in  the  same  puflf  the  close-reefed  tbretop- 
sail  split  in  two  with  a  bang,  from  earing  to  earing.  Now  came  the  orders  fast 
and  loud :  "  Down  yards  !  Haul  out  reef  tackle  !  Lay  out  and  fuil  I  Lay  out 
and  reef!" 

It  was  a  perfect  mess;   a  score  of  ropes  flying  at  once;   the  men  rolling 


190  OVERLAND. 

about  and  holding  on  ;  the  sails  slapping  like  mad,  and  ends  of  rigging  stream- 
ing off  to  leeward.  After  an  exhausting  fight  the  mainsail  was  furled,  the  upper 
half  of  the  topsail  set  close-reefed,  and  everything  hauled  taut  again.  Now 
came  an  hour  or  so  without  accident,  but  not  without  incessant  and  fatiguing 
labor,  for  the  two  royal  yards  were  successively  sent  down  to  relieve  the  upper 
masts,  and  the  foretopgallant  sail,  which  had  begun  to  blow  loose,  was  frapped 
with  long  pieces  of  sinnet. 

During  this  period  of  comparative  quiet  Thurstane  ventured  an  attempt  to 
reach  his  stateroom.  The  little  gloomy  cabin  was  going  hither  and  thither  in  a 
style  wiiich  reminded  him  of  the  lossings  of  Gulliver's  cage  after  it  had  been 
dropped  into  tiie  sea  by  the  Brobdingnag  eagle.  The  steward  was  seizing  up 
mutinous  trunks  and  cliairs  to  tlie  table  legs  with  rope-yarns.  The  lamp  was 
swinging  and  the  captain's  compass  see-sawing  like  monkeys  who  had  gone 
crazy  in  bedlams  of  tree-tops.  F'rom  two  of  the  staterooms  came  sounds  which 
plainly  confessed  that  the  occupants  were  having  a  bad  night  of  it. 
p"       "  How  is  the  lady  passenger  ?"  Tlnirstane  could  not  help  whispering. 

"  Guess  she's  asleep,  sah,"  returned  the  negro.     "  Fus-rate  sailor,  sah.     But 
them  greasers  is  having  tough  times,"  he  grinned.    "  Can't  abide  the  sea,  greasers 
\     can't,  sah." 

Smiling  with  a  grim  satisfaction  at  tliis  last  statement,  Thurstane  gave  the 
man  a  five-dollar  piece,  muttered,  "  Call  me  if  anything  goes  wrong,"  and  slip- 
ped into  his  narrow  dormitory.  Without  undressing,  he  lay  down  and  tried  to 
sleep;  but,  although  it  was  past  midniglit,  he  stayed  broad  awake  for  an  hour  or 
more  ;  he  was  too  full  of  thoughts  and  emotions  to  find  easy  quiet  in  a  pillow. 
Near  him — yes,  in  the  very  next  stateroom — lay  the  being  who  had  made  his 
life  first  a  heaven  and  then  a  hell.  The  present  and  the  past  struggled  in 
him,  and  tossed  him  with  their  tormenting  contest.  After  a  while,  too,  as  the 
plunging  of  the  brig  increased,  and  he  heard  renewed  sounds  of  disaster  on 
deck,  he  began  to  fear  for  Clara's  safety.  It  was  a  strange  feeling,  and  yet  a 
most  natural  one.  He  had  not  ceased  to  love  ;  he  seemed  indeed  to  love  her 
more  than  ever;  to  think  of  her  struggling  in  the  billows  was  horrible;  he 
knew  even  then  that  he  would  willingly  die  to  save  her.  But  after  a  time  the 
Incessant  motion  affected  him.  and  he  dozed  gradually  into  a  sound  slumber. 

Hours  later  the  jerking  and  pitching  became  so  furious  that  it  awakened  him, 
and  when  he  rose  on  his  elbow  he  was  tiirown  out  of  his  berth  bv  a  tremendous 
lurch.  Sitting  up  with  his  feet  braced,  he  listened  for  a  little  to  the  roar  of  the 
tempest,  the  trampling  feet  on  deck,  and  the  screaming  orders.  Evidently 
things  were  going  hardly  above  ;  the  storm  was  little  less  than  a  tornado.  Se- 
riously anxious  at  last  for  Clara — or,  as  he  tried  to  call  her  to  himself,  Miss 
Van  Diemen — he  stole  out  of  his  room,  clambered  or  fell  up  the  com))anionway, 
opened  the  door  after  a  strngi^le  with  a  sea  which  had  just  come  inboard,  got 
on  to  the  quarter-deck,  and,  holding  bv  the  shrouds,  quailed  before  a  spectacle 
IS  sublime  and  more  terrible  than  the  Great  Caiion  of  the  Colorado. 

It  was  da^dight.  The  sun  was  just  rising  from  behind  a  waste  of  waters  ;  it 
revealed  nothing  but  a  waste  of  waters.  All  around  the  brig,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  the  Pacific  was  one  vast  tumble  of  huge  bbie-gray,  mottled  masses, 
breaking  incessantly  in  long,  curling  ridges,  or  lofty,  tossing  steeps  of  foam. 
Each  wave  was  composed  of  scores  of  ordinary  waves,  just  as  the  greater  moun- 
tains are  composed  of  ranges  and  peaks.  They  seen»ed  moving  volcanoes, 
changing  form  with  every  minute  of  their  agony,  and  spouting  lavas  of  froth. 
All  over  this  immense  riot  of  tormented  d«eps  rolled  beaten  and  terrified  nrmJps 


OVERLAND.  lf>l 

snd  obdurate  pressure,  as  if  it  were  a  current  of  water.  It  pinned  llie  sailors 
to  tiie  y.irds.  ami  no.irly  blew  Tluustane  from  the  deck. 

The  Lolotte  was  down  to  close-reefed  topsails,  ck)se-reefed  s])encer  and 
spanker,  and  storm-jib.  Even  upon  tiiis  small  and  stout  spread  of  canvas  the 
wind  was  working  destruction,  for  just  as  Thurstane  reached  the  deck  tlie  jib 
parted  and  went  to  leeward  in  ribbons.  Sailors  were  seen  now  on  the  bowsprit 
fijjiiiing  at  once  with  sea  and  air,  now  buried  in  water,  and  now  holding  on 
against  the  storm,  and  slowly  gathering  in  the  flapping,  snap])ing  fragments. 
Next  a  new  jib  (a  third  one)  was  bent  on,  hoisted  half-way,  and  blown  out  like  a 
piece  of  wet  paper.  Almost  at  the  same  moinent  the  captain  saw  threatening' 
mouths  grimace  in  the  mainsail,  and  screamed  "  Never  mind  there  furrard.  Lay 
up  on  the  maintawps'l  yard.     Lt-^y  up  and  furl." 

After  half  an  hour's  fight,  the  sail  bagging  and  slatting  furiously,  it  was  lashed 
anyway  around  the  yard,  and  the  men  crawled  slowly  down  again,  jammed  and 
bruiseii  against  the  shrouds  by  tiie  wind.  Every  jib  and  fores'.aysail  on  board 
having  now  been  torn  out,  the  brig  remained  under  close-reefed  foretopsail, 
spencer,  ami  spanker,  and  ditl  little  but  drift  to  leeward.  The  gale  was  at  its 
height,  blowing  as  if  it  were  shot  out  of  the  mouths  of  cannon,  and  chasing  the 
ocean  before  it  in  mountains  of  foam.  One  thing  after  another  went;  the  top- 
gallants shook  loose  and  had  to  be  sent  down  ;  tiie  chain  bobstays  parted  and 
the  martingale  slued  out  of  place  ;  one  of  the  anchors  broke  its  fastenings  and 
hammered  at  the  side  ;  the  galley  gave  way  and  went  slopping  into  the  lee  scup- 
pers. No  food  that  morning  except  dry  crackers  and  cold  beef;  all  hands  la- 
boring exhaustingly  to  repair  damages  and  make  things  taut.  For  more  than 
h.df  an  hour  three  men  were  out  on  the  guys  and  backropes  endeavoring  to  reset 
ti)e  martingale,  deluged  over  and  over  by  seas,  and  at  last  driven  in  beaten. 
Others  were  relashing  the  galley,  hauling  the  loose  anchor  and  all  the  anchors 
up  on  the  rail,  and  resetting  tiie  loose  lee  rigging,  which  threatened  at  every 
lurch  to  let  the  masts  go  by  the  board. 

Thurstane  presently  learned  that  the  wind  had  changed  during  the  night,  at 
first  dropping  away  for  a  couple  of  hours,  then  reopening  with  fresh  rage  from  the 
west,  and  finally  hauling  around  into  the  northwest,  whence  it  now  came  in  a 
steady  tempest.  The  vessel  too  had  altered  her  course;  she  was  no  longer 
beating  in  long  tacks  toward  the  southeast  ;  she  was  heading  westward  and 
struggling  to  get  away  iVom  the  land.  Thurstane  asked  few  questions  ;  he  was 
a  soldier  and  had  learned  to  meet  fate  in  silence  ;  he  knew  too  that  men 
weighted  with  responsibilities  do  not  like  to  be  catechised.  But  he  guessed 
from  the  frequent  anxious  looks  of  the  captain  eastward  that  the  California  coast 
was  perilously  near,  and  that  the  brig  was  more  likely  to  be  drifting  toward  it 
than  making  headway  from  it.  Surveying  through  his  closed  hands  the  stormy 
windward  horizon,  he  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  getting  away  from  Clara  by  rea«.h- 
.ng  San  Diego,  and  turned  toward  the  idea  of  saving  her  from  shipwreck. 

None  of  the  other  passengers  came  on  deck  this  morning.  Garcia,  horriI)Iy 
seasick  and  frightened,  held  on  desperately  to  his  berth,  and  passed  the  time  in 
screaming  for  the  "stewrt,"  cursing  his  evil  surroundings,  calling  everybody  he 
could  think  of  pigs,  dogs,  etc.,  and  praying  to  saints  and  angels.  Coronado.  nrt 
less  sick  and  blaspheinous,  had  more  command  over  his  fears,  and  kejit  his 
prayers  for  tiie  last  pinch.  Clara,  a  much  better  sailor,  and  indeed  an  uncom- 
monly good  one,  was  so  far  beaten  by  the  motion  that  she  did  not  get  up,  but 
lay  as  quiet  as  the  brig  would  let  her,  patiently  awaiting  results,  now  and  tiien 
smiling  at  Garcia's  shouts,  but  more  frequently  thinking  of  Thurstane,  and 
sometimes  praying  that  she  might  find  him  alive  at  Fort  Yuma. 


192  OVERLAND. 

The  steward  carried  cold  beef,  hard  bread,  brandy,  coffee,  and  gruel  (made  ?0 
his  panlry)  from  stateroom  to  stateroom.  The  girl  ate  heariiiy,  inquired  about 
the  storm,  and  asked,  "  When  shall  we  get  there  ?  "  Garcia  and  Coronado  tried 
a  little  of  the  gruel  and  a  good  deal  of  the  brandy  and  water,  and  found,  as  peo- 
ple usually  do  under  such  circumstances,  that  nothing  did  them  any  good.  The 
old  man  wanted  to  ask  the  steward  a  hundred  questions,  and  yelled  for  his 
nephew  to  come  and  translate  fur  him.  Coronado,  lying  on  his  back,  made  no 
answer  to  these  cries  of  despair,  except  in  muttered  curses  and  sniffs  of  angry 
laughter.  So  passed  the  morning  in  the  cabin. 
P  Thurstane  remained  on  deck,  eating  in  soldierly  fashion,  his  pockets  full  of 
cold  beef  and  crackers,  and  his  canteen  (for  every  infantry  officer  learns  to  carry 

\  one)  charged  with  hot  coffee.  He  was  pretty  wet,  inasmuch  as  the  spray  show- 
ered incessantly  athwart  ships,  while  every  few  minutes  heavy  seas  came  over 
the  quarter  bulwarks,  slamming  upon  the  deck  like  the  tail  of  a  shark  in  his 
agonies.  During  the  morning  several  great  coml)ers  had  surmounted  the  port 
bow  and  rushed  aft,  carrying  along  everytiiing  loose  or  that  could  be  loosened, 
and  banging  against  the  companion  door  with  the  force  of  a  runaway  horse. 
And  these  deluges  grew  more  frequent,  for  the  gale  was  steadily  increasing  in 
violence,  howling  and  shrieking  out  of  the  gilded  eastern  horizon  as  if  Lucifer 
and  his  angels  had  been  hurled  anew  from  heaven. 

About  noon  the  close-reefed  foretopsail  burst  open  from  earing  to  earing,  and 
then  ripped  up  to  the  yard,  the  corners  stretching  out  before  the  wind  and  crack- 
ing like  musket  shots.  To  set  it  again  was  impossible  ;  the  orders  came,  "  Down 
yard — haul  out  reef  tackle  ;  "  then  half  a  dozen  men  laid  out  on  ihe  spar  and  be- 
gan furling.     Scarcely  was  this  terrible  job  well  under  way  when  a  whack  of  the 

I  slatting  sail  struck  a  Kanaka  boy  from  his  hold,  and  he  was  carried  to  leev.-ard 
by  the  gale  as  if  he  had  been  a  bag  of  old  clothes,  dropping  forty  feet  from  the 
side  into  the  face  of  a  monstrous  billow.  He  swam  for  a  moment,  but  the  next 
wave  combed  over  him  and  he  disappeared.  Then  he  was  seen  further  astern, 
still  swimming  and  with  his  face  toward  the  brig;  then  another  vast  breaker 
rushed  upon  him  with  a  lion-liVe  roar,  and  he  was  gone.  Nothing  could  be 
done;  no  boat  might  live  in  such  a  sea;  it  would  have  been  perilous  to  change 
course.  The  captain  glaaced  at  the  unfortunate,  clenched  his  fists  desperately, 
and  turned  to  his  rigging.  Another  man  took  tlie  vacant  place  on  the  yard,  and 
the  hard,  dizzy,  frightful  labor  there  went  on  unflaggingly,  with  tlie  usual  cries 

(__  of  "  Haul  out,  knot  away,"  etc.     It  was  one  of  the  forms  of  a  sailor's  funeral. 

No  time  for  comments  or  emotions  ;  the  gale  filled  every  mind  every  minute. 
It  was  soon  found  that  the  spanker,  a  pretty  large  sail,  well  aft  and  not  balanced 
by  any  canvas  at  the  bow,  drew  too  heavily  on  the  stern  and  made  steering  al- 
most impossible.  A  couple  of  Kanakas  were  ordered  to  reef  it,  but  could  do 
nothing  with  it ;  the  skipper  cursed  them  for  "sojers  "  (our  infantryman  smiling 
at  the  epithet)  and  sent  two  first-class  hands  to  replace  them  ;  but  these  also 
were  completely  beaten  by  t!ie  hurricane.  It  was  not  till  a  whole  watch  was  put 
at  the  job  that  the  big,  bellying  sheet  could  be  hauled  in  and  made  fast  in  the 
reef  knots.  The  brig  now  had  not  a  rag  out  but  her  spencer  and  reduced  spank- 
er, both  strong,  small,  and  low  sails,  eased  a  good  deal  by  their  slant,  shielded 
by  the  elevated  port-rail,  and  thus  likely  to  hold.  But  it  was  not  sailing;  it  was 
simplv  lying  to.  The  vessel  ro%e  and  fell  on  the  monstrous  waves,  but  made 
scarcely  more  headway  than  would  a  tub,  and  drifted  fast  toward  the  still  unseen 
California  coast. 

All  might  still  have  gone  well  had  the  northwester  continued  as  it  was.  But 
about  noon  this  tempest,  which  already  seemed  as  furious  as  it  could  possibly 


OVERLAND.  193 

be,  suddenly  increased  to  an  absolute  luuricane,  tlie  wind  fairly  shoving  the  brig 
sidelong  over  tlie  water.  Bang  went  the  spanker,  and  tlien  bang  tlie  spencer, 
both  sails  at  once  flying  out  to  leeward  in  streamers,  and  flapping  to  tatters  be- 
fore the  men  could  spring  on  the  booms  to  secure  them.  The  destruction  was 
almost  as  instant  and  complete  as  if  it  had  been  effected  by  the  broadside  of  a 
seventy-four  fired  at  short  range. 

"  Bend  on  the  new  spencer,"  shouted  the  captain.  "  Out  with  it  and  up  willi 
it  before  she  rolls  the  sticks  out  of  her." 

But  tiie  rolling  commenced  instantly,  giving  the  sailors  no  time  for  their 
work.  No  longer  steadied  by  the  wind,  tlie  vessel  was  entirely  at  the  mercy  of 
the  sea,  and  went  twice  on  her  beam  ends  for  every  billow,  first  to  lee  and  then 
to  windwartl.  Presently  a  great,  white,  hissing  comber  rose  above  her  larboard 
bulwark,  hung  there  for  a  moment  as  if  gloating  on  its  prey,  and  fell  with  the 
force  of  an  avalanche,  shaking  every  spar  and  timber  into  an  ague,  deluging  the 
main  deck  breast  high,  and  swashing  knee-deep  over  the  quarter-deck.  The 
galley,  with  the  cook  in  it,  was  torn  from  its  lashings  and  slung  overboard  as  if 
it  had  been  a  hencoop.  The  companion  doors  were  stove  in  as  if  by  a  battering 
ram,  and  the  cabin  was  flooded  in  an  instant  with  two  feet  of  water,  slopping  and 
lapping  among  the  baggage,  and  stealing  under  the  doors  of  the  staterooms. 
The  sailors  in  the  waist  only  saved  themselves  by  rushing  into  the  rigging 
during  the  moment  in  which  the  breaker  hung  suspended. 

Nothing  could  be  done  ;  the  vessel  must  lift  herself  from  this  state  of  sub- 
mergence ;  and  so  she  did,  slowly  and  tremulousl)',  like  a  sick  man  rising  from 
bis  bed.  But  while  the  ocean  within  was  still  running  out  of  her  scuppers,  the 
ocean  witliout  assaulted  her  anew.  Successive  billows  rolled  under  her,  careen- 
ing her  dead  weight  this  way  and  that,  and  keeping  her  constantly  wallowing.. 
No  rigging  could  bear  such  jerking  long,  and  presently  the  dreaded  catastrophe 
came. 

The  larboard  stays  of  the  foremast  snapped  first ;  then  the  shrouds  on  the 
same  side  doubled  in  a  great  bight  and  parted  ;  next  tlie  mast,  with  a  loud, 
shrieking  crash,  splintered  and  went  by  the  board.  It  fell  slowly  and  with  an 
air  of  dignified,  solemn  resignation,  like  Caesar  under  the  daggers  of  the  con- 
spirators. The  cross  stays  flew  ajiart  like  cobwebs,  but  the  lee  shrouds  unfortu- 
nately held  good  ;  and  scarcely  was  the  stick  overboard  before  there  was  an  om- 
inous thumi)ing  at  the  sides,  the  drum-beat  of  death.  It  was  like  guns  turned 
on  their  own  columns  ;  like  Pyrrhus's  elephants  breaking  the  phalanx  of  Pyrrluis. 

"  Axes  !  "  roared  the  captain  at  the  first  crack.  "  Axes  !  "  yelled  the  mate  as 
the  spar  reeled  into  the  water.  "Lay  forward  and  clear  the  wreck,"  were  tlie 
next  orders  ;  "cut  away  with  your  knives." 

Two  axes  were  got  up  from  below;  the  sailors  worked  like  beavers,  waist- 
deep  in  water;  one,  who  had  lost  his  knife,  tore  at  the  ropes  with  his  teeth. 
After  some  minutes  of  reeling,  splashing,  chopping,  and  cutting,  the  fidien  mast, 
the  friend  who  had  become  an  eneiny,  the  angel  who  had  become  a  demon,  was 
sent  drifting  through  the  creamy  foam  to  leeward.  Meantime  the  mate  hail 
sounded  the  pumps,  and  brought  out  of  them  a  clear  stream  of  water,  the  fresh 
invasion  of  ocean. 

Directly  on  this  cruel  discovery,  and  as  if  to  heighten  its  horror  to  the  ut- 
most, the  captain,  clinging  high  up  the  m;unmast  shrouds,  sliouted,  "  Landa- 
lee  !     Get  ready  the  boats." 

Without  a  word  Tliurstane  hurried  down  into  the  cabin  to  save  Clara  from 
ihis  twofold  threatening  of  death. 


194  OVERLAND, 


CHAPTER  XL. 

When  Thurstane  got  into  tlie  cabin,  he  found  it  pretty  nearly  clear  of  water 
the  steward  having  opened  doors  and  trap-doors  and  drawn  off  the  deluge  into 
the  hold. 

Tlie  fir.^t  object  that  he  saw,  or  could  see,  was  Clara,  curled  up  in  a  chair 
which  was  lashed  to  the  mast,  and  secured  in  it  by  a  lanyard.  As  he  paused  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairway  to  steady  himself  against  a  sickening  lurch,  she  uttered 
a  cry  of  joy  and  astonishment,  and  held  out  her  hand.  The  cry  was  not  speech  ; 
her  gladness  was  far  beyond  words  ;  it  was  simply  the  first  utterance  of  nature  ; 
it  was  the  primal  inarticulate  language. 

He  had  expected  to  stand  at  a  distance  and  ask  her  leave  to  save  her  life. 
Instead  of  that,  he  hurried  toward  her,  caught  lier  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  hand 
over  and  over,  called  her  pet  names,  uttered  a  pathetic  moan  of  grief  and  aflection, 
and  shook  with  inward  sobbing.  He  did  not  understand  her;  he  still  believed 
that  she  had  rejected  him — believed  that  she  only  reached  out  to  him  for  help. 
But  he  never  thought  of  charging  her  witli  being  false  or  hard-hearted  or  selfish. 
At  the  mere  sight  of  her  asking  rescue  of  him  he  devoted  himself  to  her.  He 
dared  to  kiss  her  and  call  her  dearest,  because  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  this  aw- 
ful moment  of  perhaps  mortal  separation  he  might  show  his  love.  If  tiiey  were 
to  be  torn  apart  by  death,  and  sepulchred  possibly  in  dilTerent  caves  of  the 
ocean,  surely  his  last  farewell  might  be  a  kiss. 

If  she  talked  to  him,  he  scarcely  heard  her  words,  and  did  not  realize  their 
meaning.  If  it  was  indeed  true  that  she  kissed  his  cheek,  he  thouglu  it  was 
because  she  wanted  rescue  and  would  thank  any  one  for  it.  She  was,  as  he  un- 
derstood her,  like  a  pet  animal,  who  licks  the  face  of  any  friend  in  need,  though 
a  stranger.  Never  mind  ;  lie  loved  her  just  the  same  as  if  she  were  not  selfish  ; 
he  would  serve  her  just  the  same  as  if  she  were  still  his.  He  unloosed  her  arms 
from  his  shoulders,  wondering  that  they  should  be  there,  and  crawling  with  dif- 
ficulty to  tlie  cabin  locker,  groped  in  it  for  life-preservers.  Tliere  was  only  one 
in  the  vessel  ;  that  one  he  buckled  around  Clara. 

"  Oh,  my  darling  !  "  she  exclai ned  ;   "  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  My  darling  !  "  he  echoed,  "bear  it  bravely.  There  is  great  danger;  but 
don't  be  afraid — I  will  save  you." 

He  had  no  doubts  in  making  this  promise  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could 
overcome  the  billows  for  her  sake — that  he  could  make  himself  stronger  than 
the  powers  of  nature. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?  from  another  vessel  ?"  she  asked,  stretching 
out  her  arms  to  hiin  again. 
r~        "I  was  here,"  he  said,  taking  and  kissing  her  hands  ;  "  I  was  here,  watching 
'     over  you.     But  there  is  no  time  to  lose.     Let  me  carry  you." 

"They  must  be  saved,"  returned  Clara,  pointing  to  the  staterooms.  "Gar- 
cia and  Coronado  are  there." 

Should  he  try  to  deliver  those  enemies  from  death  ?     He  did  not  hesitate  a 
moment  about  it,  but  bursting  open  the  doors  of  the  two  rooms  he  shouted,  "  On 
J^   deck  wi:th  you  1     Into  the  boats  !     We  are  sinking  !  " 

Next  he  set  Clara  down,  passed  his  left  arm  around  her  waist,  clung  to  things 
with  his  right  hand,  dragged  her  up  the  companionway  to  the  quarter-deck,  and 
lashed  her  to  the  weather  shrouds,  with  her  feet  on  the  wooden  leader.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  during  the  five  minutes  occupied  by  this  short  journey.     Even 


OVERLAND.  195 

while  Clara  was  crossing  the  deck  a  frothing  coml>er  deluged  her  to  her  waist» 
and  Ihurstane  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  her  from  being  flung  into  the  lee 
scuppers.  But  once  he  had  her  (,\st  and  temporarily  safe,  he  made  a  great  et^ort 
to  smile  cheerfully,  and  said,  "  Never  fear  ;   I  won't  leave  you." 

'•Oil  !  to  meet  to  die  !  "  she  sobbed,  for  the  strength  of  the  water  and  the 
rage  of  the  surrounding  sea  had  frightened  her.     "Oli,  it  is  cruel  !  " 

Presently  she  smotliered  her  crying,  and  implored,  "  Come  up  here  and  tie 
yourself  by  my  side  ;   I  want  to  hold  your  hand." 

He  wondered  whether  she  loved  him  again,  now  that  she  saw  him  ;  and  in 
spite  of  the  cliilling  seas  and  the  death  at  hand,  he  thrilled  warm  at  the  thought. 
He  was  about  to  obey  her  when  CorOnado  and  Garcia  appeared,  pale  as  two 
ghosts,  clinging  to  each  other,  tottering  and  helpless.  Thurstane  went  to  tiiem, 
got  the  old  man  lashed  to  one  of  the  backstays,  and  helped  Curonado  to  secure 
himself  (o  another.  Garcia  was  jabbering  prayers  and  crying  aloud  like  a 
scared  child,  his  jaws  shaking  as  if  in  a  palsy.  Coronado,  although  seeming 
resolved  to  bear  himself  like  an  hidaljio  and  maintain  a  jjrini  silence,  his  f;\ce  was 
wilted  and  seamed  with  anxiety,  as  if  he  had  become  an  old  man  in  the  night. 
It  was  rather  a  fine  sight  to  see  him  looking  into  the  face  of  the  storm  with  an 
air  of  defying  death  and  all  that  it  might  bring;  and  perhaps  he  would  have 
been  helpful,  and  would  have  shown  himself  one  of  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  had 
he  not  been  prostrated  by  sickness.  As  it  was,  he  took  little  interest  in  the  fate 
of  others,  hardly  noticing  Thurstane  as  he  resumed  his  post  beside  Clara,  and 
only  addressing  the  girl  with  one  word  :  *'  Patience  !  " 

Clara  and  Thurstane,  side  by  side  and  hantl  in  Iiand,  were  also  for  the  most 
part  silent,  now  looking  around  them  upon  their  fate,  and  then  at  each  other  for 
strengtii  to  bear  it. 

Meantime  part  of  the  crew  had  tried  the  pumps,  and  been  washed  away  from 
them  twice  by  seas,  floating  helplessly  about  the  main  deck,  and  clutching  at 
rigging  to  save  themselves,  but  nevertheless  discovering  that  the  brig  was  filling 
but  slowly,  and  would  have  full  time  to  strike  before  she  could  founder. 

'"Vast  there  !  "  called  the  captain  ;  "'vast  the  pumps  !  All  hands  stand  by 
to  launch  the  boats  !  " 

"Long  boat's  stove  !"  shouted  the  mate,  putting  his  hands  to  his  mouth  so 
as  to  be  heard  through  the  gale. 

"  All  hands  aft  !"  was  the  next  order.     "Stand  by  to  launch   the  quarter- 
boats  ! " 
I         So  the  entire  remaining  crew — two  mates  and  eight  men,  including  the  stew- 
j    Rrd — splashed  and  claml)ered  on  to  the  quarter-deck  and  took  station  by  the 
L  boat-falls,  hanging  on  as  they  could. 

"  Can  I  do  anything?"  asked  Thurstane. 

"  Not  yet,"  auswered  the  captain;  "you  are  doing  what's  right ;  take  care 
of  the  lady." 

"What  are  the  chances  ?"  the  lieutenant  ventured  now  to  inquire. 

With  fate  upon  him,  and  seemingly  irresistible,  the  skijiper  had  dropped  his 
grim  air  of  conflict  and  become  gentle,  almost  resigned.  His  voice  was  friendly, 
sympathetic,  and  quite  calm,  as  he  stepped  up  by  Thurstane's  side  and  said, 
"  We  shall  have  a  tough  time  of  it.  The  land  is  only  about  ten  miles  away.  At 
this  rate  we  shall  strike  it  inside  of  three  hours.  1  don't  see  how  it  can  be 
helped." 

"  Where  shall  we  strike  ?" 

^^  Smack  into  tlie  Bay  of  .Monterey,  between  the  town  and  Point  Pinos.* 


198  OVERLAND. 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 
r"       "  Do  just  what  you've  got  in  hand.     Take  care  of  the  lady.     See  that  she 
I    gels  into  the  biggest  boat — if  we  try  the  boats." 

Chira  overheard,  gave  the  skipper  a  kind  look,  and  said,  "  Thank  you,  cap- 
tain.'' 

"  You're  fit  to  be  capm  of  a  liner,  miss,"  returned  the  sailor.     ''  You're  one 
(^  of  the  best  sort." 

For  some  time  longer,  while  waiting  for  the  final  catastrophe,  nothing  was 
done  but  to  hold  fast  and  gaze.  The  voj-agers  were  like  condemned  men  who 
are  preceded,  followed,  accompanied,  jostled,  and  hurried  to  the  place  of  death 
by  a  vindictive  people.  The  giants  of  the  sea  were  coming  in  multitudes  to 
this  execution  which  they  had  ordained  ;  all  the  windward  ocean  was  full  of  ris- 
ing and  falling  billows,  which  seemed  to  trample  one  another  down  in  their 
savage  haste.  There  was  no  mercy  in  tlie  formless  faces  which  grimaced  around 
the  doomed  ones,  nor  in  the  tempestuous  voices  which  deafened  them  with 
threatenings  and  insult.  The  breakers  seemed  to  signal  to  each  other  ;  they 
were  cruelly  eloquent  with  menacing  gestures.  Tliere  was  but  one  sentence 
among  them,  and  that  sentence  was  a  tliousand  times  repeated,  and  it  was  al- 
,vays  Death. 

P  To  paint  the  shifting  sublimity  of  the  tempest  is  as  difficult  as  it  was  to  paint 
the  steadfast  sublimity  of  the  Great  Canon.  Tlie  waves  were  in  furious  move- 
ment, continual  change,  and  almost  incessant  death.  They  destroyed  themselves 
and  each  other  by  their  violence.  Scarcely  did  one  become  eminent  before  it 
Avas  torn  to  pieces  by  its  comrades,  or  perished  of  its  own  rage.  They  were 
like  barbarous  hordes,  exterminating  one  another  or  falling  into  dissolution, 
while  devastating  everything  in  their  course. 

There  was  a  frantic  revelry,  an  indescribable  pandemonium  of  transforma- 
tions. Lofty  plumes  of  foam  fell  into  hoary,  flattened  sheets  ;  curling  and  howl- 
ing cataracts  became  suddenly  deep  hollows.  The  indigo  slopes  were  marbled 
with  white,  but  not  one  of  these  mottlings  retained  the  .same  sliape  for  an  in- 
stant ;  it  was  broad,  deep,  and  creamy  when  tiie  eye  first  beheld  it;  in  the  next 
breath  it  was  waving,  shallow,  and  narrow  ;  in  the  next  it  was  gone.  A  thou- 
sand eddies,  whirls,  and  ebullitions  of  all  magnitudes  appeared  only  to  disap- 
pear. Great  and  little  jets  of  froth  struggled  from  the  agitated  centres  toward 
the  surface,  and  never  reached  it.  Every  one  of  the  hundred  waves  which 
made  up  each  billow  rapidly  tossed  and  wallowed  itself  to  death. 

Yet  there  was  no  diminution  in  the  spectacle,  no  relaxation  in  the  combat. 
In  the  place  of  what  vanished  there  was  immediately  sometlyng  else.  Out  of 
tiie  quick  grave  of  one  surge  rose  the  white  plume  of  another.  Marbling  fol- 
lowed marbling,  and  cataract  overstrode  cataract.  Even  to  their  bases  the 
oceanic  ranges  and  peaks  were  full  of  power,  activity,  and,  as  it  were,  explo- 
sions. It  seemed  as  if  endless  multitudes  of  transformations  boiled  up  through 
them  from  their  abodes  in  sea-deep  caves.  There  was  no  exhausting  this  re- 
productiveness  of  form  and  power.  At  every  glance  a  thousand  work's  of 
waters  had  perished,  and  a  thousand  worlds  of  waters  had  been  created.  And 
all  these  worlds,  the  new  even  more  than  the  old,  were  full  of  malignity  toward 
the  wreck,  and  bent  on  its  destruction. 

The  wind,  though  invisible,  was  not  less  wonderful.  It  surpassed  the  ocean 
in  strength,  for  it  chased,  gashed,  and  deformed  the  ocean.  It  inflicted  upon  it 
countless  wounds,  slashing  fresh  ones  as  fast  as  others  healed.  It  not  only  tore 
off  the  hoary  scalps  of  the  billows  and  flung  them  through  the  air,  but  it  wrenched 


L 


OVERLAND.  19 1 

out  ami  liuiletl  l.irge  masses  o(  water,  scattering  them  in  rain  ami  mist,  the 
blooil  of  tlie  sea.  Now  ami  tlien  it  made  all  the  air  dense  with  spray,  causing 
the  Pacific  to  resemMe  the  Saiiar.i  in  a  simoom.  At  other  times  it  levelled  the 
tops  of  scores  of  waves  at  once,  ciusliing  and  kne.iding  them  by  the  immense 
force  tlial  lay  in  its  swiftness. 

It  would  Hot  be  looked  in  the  face  ;  it  blinded  the  eyes  that  strove  to  search 
it;  it  seemed  to  flap  atid  beat  them  with  harsh,  ciiurlish  wings  ;  it  was  as  full 
of  insult  as  tlie  billows.  Its  cry  was  not  multituilinous  like  that  of  the  sea,  but 
one  and  incessant  and  inv.irialile,  a  long  scream  that  almost  hissed.  On  reach- 
ing the  wreck,  however,  this  shriek  became  ho.ase  with  rage,  and  howled  as  it 
shook  the  rig'.;-ing.  It  used  the  shrouds  and  stays  of  the  still  upright  mainmast" 
as  an  ^oliaii  harp  from  which  to  draw  horrible  music.  It  made  tlie  tense  ropes 
tremble  and  thrill,  and  tortured  the  spars  until  they  wailed  a  death-song.  Its  forc^ 
as  felt  by  the  shipwrecked  ones  was  astonishing;  it  beat  them  about  as  if  it 
%vere  a  sea,  and  bruised  them  against  the  shrouds  and  bulwarks  ;  it  asserted  its 
mastery  over  them  with  the  long-drawn  cruelty  of  a  tiger. 

Just  around  the  wreck  the  tumult  of  both  wind  and  sea  was  of  course  more 
horrible  ti\an  anywliere  else.  These  enemies  were  infuriated  by  the  sluggish- 
ness of  the  disabled  hulk  ;  they  treated  it  as  Imlians  treat  a  captive  who  cannot 
keep  up  with  their  march  ;  they  belabored  it  with  blows  and  insulted  it  with 
howls.  The  brig,  constantly  tossed  and  dropped  and  shoved,  was  never  still 
for  an  instant.  It  roiled  heavily  and  somewhat  slowly,  but  with  perpetual  jerks 
and  jars,  shuddering  at  every  concussion.  Its  only  regularity  of  movement  lay 
in  this,  that  the  force  of  the  wind  and  direction  of  the  waves  kept  it  larboard 
side  on,  drifting  steadily  toward  the  land, 
r"  One  moment  it  was  on  a  lofty  crest,  seeming  as  if  it  would  he  hurled  into 
'  air.  The  next  it  was  rolling  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  between  a  wave  which 
hoarsely  threatened  to  engulf  it,  and  another  wluch  rushed  seething  and  hissing 
from  beneatli  tiie  keel.  The  deck  stood  mostly  at  a  steep  angle,  the  weather 
bulwarks  l:)eing  at  a  considerable  elevation,  and  tlie  lee  ones  dipping  tlie  surges. 
Against  this  helpless  and  partially  water-logged  mass  the  combers  rusiied  inces- 
santly, hiding  it  every  few  seconds  will)  sheets  of  spray,  and  often  sweeping  it 
with  deluges.  Around  trie  stern  and  bow  tlie  rush  of  bubbling,  roaring  whirls 
was  uninterrupted. 

The  motion  was  sickly  and  dismaying,  li1<e  the  throes  of  one  who  is  dying. 
It  could  not  be  trusted;  it  dropped  away  under  the  feet  traitorously;  then,  by 
an  insolent  surprise,  it  violently  stopi>ed  or  lifted.  It  was  made  the  more  un- 
certain and  distressing  by  the  swaying  of  the  water  whicli  had  entered  the  hull. 
Sometimes,  too,  the  under  boiling  of  a  crusiied  billow  caused  a  great  lurch  to 
windward  ;  and  after  each  of  these  struggles  came  a  reel  to  leeward  whicli 
threatened  to  turn  the  wreck  bottom  up;  the  breakers  meantime  leaping  aboard 
/    witii  loud  stampings  as  if  resolved  to  beat  through  the  deck. 

During  hours  of  this  tossing  and  plunging,  this  tearing  of  the  wind  and  bat- 
tering of  the  sea,  no  one  was  lost.  The  sailors  were  clustered  around  the  boats, 
some  clinging  to  the  davits  and  others  lashed  to  belaying  pins,  exhausted  by 
long  lalx»r,  want  of  sleep,  and  constant  soakings,  but  ready  to  fight  for  life  to 
the  last  Coronado  and  Garcia  were  still  fast  to  the  backstays,  the  former  a 
good  deal  wilted  by  his  hardships,  and  the  latter  whimpering.  Thurstane  had 
literally  seized  up  Clara  to  the  outside  of  the  weather  shrouds,  so  that,  although 
she  was  terribly  jammed  by  the  wind,  she  could  not  be  carried  away  by  it,  while 


198  OVERLAND. 

she  was  above  the  heaviest  pounding  of  the  seas.     His  own  position  was  along- 
side of  her,  secured  in  like  manner  by  ends  of  cordajje. 

Sometimes  he  held  her  hanJ,  and  sometimes  her  waist.  She  could  lean  her 
shoulder  against  his,  and  she  did  so  nearly  all  tl)e  while.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
as  often  on  his  face  as  on  the  breakers  which  threatened  her  life.  Tlie  few 
words  that  she  spoke  were  more  likely  to  be  confessions  of  love  than  of  terror. 
Now  and  then,  when  a  billow  of  unusual  size  had  slipped  harmlessly  by,  he 
gratefully  and  almost  joyously  drew  her  close  to  him,  uttering  a  few  syllables  of 
cheer.  She  thanked  him  by  sending  all  her  atfectionate  heart  through  her  eyes 
/   into  his. 

r  Although  tliere  had  been  no  explanations  as  to  the  past,  they  understood 
each  otlier's  present  feelings.  It  could  not  be,  he  was  sure,  that  slie  clung  to  him 
thus  and  looked  at  him  tlius  merely  because  she  wanted  him  to  save  her  life. 
She  had  been  detached  from  him  by  others,  he  said  ;  she  had  been  drawn  away 
from  thinking  of  him  during  his  absence  ;  she  had  been  brought  to  judge,  per- 
liaps  wisely,  that  she  ought  not  to  marry  a  poor  man  ;  but  now  that  she  saw 
him  again  she  loved  him  as  of  old,  and,  stanJing  at  death's  door,  she  felt  at 
liberty  to  coafess  it.  Thus  did  he  translate  to  himself  a  past  tliai  had  no  exist- 
ence. He  still  believed  that  she  had  dismissed  him,  and  that  slie  had  done  it 
■with  cruel  harshness.  But  he  could  not  resent  her  conduct  ;  he  believed  what 
)    lie  did  and  forgave  her  ;  he  believed  it,  and  loved  her. 

There  were  moments  when  it  was  delightlul  for  them  to  be  as  they  were. 
As  they  held  fast  to  each  otiier,  though  drenched  and  exliai.sted  and  in  mortal 
peril,  tliey  had  a  sensation  as  if  tliey  were  warm.  The  hearts  were  beating  hotly 
clean  through  the  wet  frames  and  tlie  ciri[)pjng  clotliing. 

"Oh,  my  love  !"  was  a  phrase  whicii  Clara  rejieated  many  times  with  an  air 
of  deep  content. 

Once  she  said,  "My  love,  1  never  thought  to  die  so  easily.  How  horrible  it 
would  have  been  without  you  !  " 

Again  she  murmured,  "  I  have  prayed  many,  many  times  to  have  you.  I  did 
not  know  how  the  answer  would  come.     But  this  is  it." 

"My  darling,  I  have  had  visions  about  you,"  was  another  of  these  confes- 
sions. "  When  I  had  been  praying  for  you  nearly  all  one  night,  there  was  a  great 
light  came  into  the  room.  It  v/as  some  promise  for  you.  1  knew  it  was  then; 
something  told  me  so.     Oli,  how  happy  1  was  !  " 

Presently  she  added,  "  .My  dear  love,  we  shall  be  just  as  happy  as  that.  We 
shall  live  in  great  light  togellier.  God  Vvill  be  pleased  to  see  plainly  how  we  love 
each  other." 

Her  only  complaints  were  a  patient  "  Isn't  it  hard  ?"  when  a  new  billow  had 
covered  her  from  head  to  foot,  crushed  her  pitilessly  against  the  shrouds,  and 
nearly  smothered  her. 

The  next  words  would  perhaps  be,  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  my  darling.  1 
wish  for  your  sake  tliat  you  had  not  come.     But  oh,  how  you  help  me  !  " 

"I  am  glad  to  be  here,"  (irmly  and  honestly  and  passionately  responded  the 
young  man,  raising  her  wet  hand  and  covering  it  with  kisses.  "But  you  shall 
not  die." 

He  was  bearing  like  a  man  and  she  like  a  woman.  He  was  resolved  to 
/      fight  his  battle  to  the  last  ;  she  was  weak,  resigned,  gentle,  and  ready  for  heaven. 

The  land,  even  to  its  minor  features,  was  now  distinctly  visible,  not  more  than 
a  mile  to  leeward.  As  they  rose  on  the  billows  they  could  distinguish  the  long 
beach,  the  grassy  slopes,  and  wooded  knolls  beyond  it,  the  green  lawn  on  which 


r 


OVERLAND.  '^^ 

stood  the  vHU-ige  of  Monterey,  tlie  whitewashed  wills  and  red-tiled  roofs  of  the 
houses,  and  tlie  groups  of  people  who  were  w.itching  the  oncoming  tragedy. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  launch  the  boils  ? "  shouted  Tlmrstane  after  a  glance 
at  the  awful  line  of  frothing  breakers  which  careered  back  and  forth  athwai  t  the 

befell 

"They  are  both  stove,"  returned  the  captain  calmly.     "  We  must  go  aiihore 

as  we  are." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Whex  Tlmrstane  heard,  or  rather  guessed  from  the  captain's  gestures,  that 
the  boats  were  stove,  he  called,  "Are  we  to  do  nothing  ? " 

The  captain  shouted  sometliing  in  reply,  but  although  he  put  his  hands  to  h.s 
mouth  for  a  speaking  trumpet,  his  words  were  inaudible,  and  he  would  not  have 
been  understood  had  he  not  pointed  aloft. 

Tluustane  looked  upward,  and  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the  main  topmast 
had  broken  off  and  been  cut  clear,  probably  hours  ago  when  he  was  in  the  cabin 
searching  for  Clara.  The  top  still  remained,  however,  and  twisted  through  its 
oi>enings'"was  one  end  of  a  hawser,  the  otiier  end  floating  off  to  leeward  two  hun- 
dred ylrds  in  advance  of  the  wreck.  Fastened  to  the  hawser  by  a  large  loop 
was  a  sling  of  cordage,  from  which  a  long  halyard  trailed  shoreward,  while  an- 
other connected  it  with  the  top.  All  this  had  been  done  behind  his  back  and 
without  his  knowledge,  so  deafening  and  absorbing  was  the  temi^est.  He  saw 
at  once  what  was  meant  and  what  he  would  have  to  do.  When  the  bng  struck 
he  must  carry  Clara  into  the  top,  secure  her  in  the  sling,  and  send  her  ashore. 
Doubtless  the  crowd  on  the  beach  would  know  enough  to  make  the  hawser  fa~t 
and  pull  on  the  halyard. 

The  captain  shouted  again,  and  this  time  he  could  be  understood:  "When 

she  strikes  hold  hard." 

"  Did  you  hear  him  ?  "  Thurstane  asked,  turning  to  Clara. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  and  smiled  in  his  face,  though  faintly  like  one  dying. 
He  passed  cne  arm  around  the  middle  stay  of  the  shrouds  and  around  her  waist, 
passed  the  other  in  front  of  her,  covering  her  chest ;  and  so,  with  every  muscle 

set,  he  waited. 

*  Surrounded,  pursued,  pushed,  and  hammered  by  the,  billows,  the  wreck 
drifted,  rising  and  falling,  starting  and  wallowing  toward  the  awful  line  where 
the  breakers  plunged  over  the  undertow  and  dashed  themselves  to  death  on  the 
resounding  shore.  There  was  a  wide  debatable  ground  between  land  and 
water.  One  moment  it  belonged  to  earth,  the  next  lofty  curling  surges  foamed 
howling  over  it  ;  then  the  undertow  was  flying  back  in  savage  torrents.  Would 
the  hawser  reach  across  this  flux  and  reflux  of  death  ?  Would  the  mast  hold 
I    against  the  grounding  shock  ?     Would  the  sling  work  ? 

They  lurched  nearer  ;  the  shock  was  close  at  hand  ;  every  one  set  teeih  and 
tightened  grip.  Lifted  on  a  monstrous  billow,  which  was  itself  lifted  by  the  un- 
dertow  and  the  shelving  of  the  beach,  the  hulk  seemed  as  if  it  were  held  aloft  by 
some  demon  in  order  that  it  might  be  dashed  to  pieces.  Ikit  the  wave  lost  its 
hold,  swept  under  the  keel,  staggered  wildly  up  the  slope,  broke  in  a  huge  white 
deafening  roll,  and  rushed  backward  in  torrents.  The  brig  was  between  two 
forces:  Tt  struck  once,  but  not  heavily;  then,  raised  by  the  incoming  surge,  it 
Struck*  again  ;  there  was  an  awful   consciousness  and    uproar  of  beating  and 


n 


200  OVERLAND. 

grinding;  the  next  instant  it  was  on  its  beam  ends  and  covered  with  cata* 
racts. 

Every  one  aboard  was  submerged.  Thurstane  and  Clara  were  overwhelmed 
by  such  a  mass  of  water  that  they  thought  themselves  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Two  men  who  had  not  mounted  the  rigging,  but  tried  to  cling  to  the  boat  davits, 
■were  hurled  adrift  and  sent  to  agonize  in  the  undertow.  The  brig  trembled,  as 
if  it  were  on  the  point  of  breaking  up  and  dissolving  in  the  horrible,  furious 
yeast  of  breakers.  Even  to  the  people  on  shore  the  moment  and  the  spectacle 
were  sublime  and  tremendous  beyond  description.  The  vessel  and  the  people 
on  board  disappeared  for  a  time  from  their  siglit  under  jets  and  cascades  of  surf. 
The  spray  rose  in  a  dense  sheet  as  high  as  the  maintopmast  would  have  been 
had  it  stood  upright. 

When  Thurstane  came  out  of  his  state  of  temporary  drowning,  he  was  con- 
scious of  two  sailors  clambering  by  him  toward  the  top,  and  heard  a  shout  in  his 
ears  of  "  Cast  loose." 

It  was  tlie  captain.  He  had  sprung  alongside  of  Clara,  and  was  already  urw 
winding  her  lashings.  Thrice  before  the  job  was  done  they  were  buried  in  surf, 
and  during  the  third  trial  they  had  to  hold  on  with  their  hands,  tlie  two  men 
clasping  the  girl  desperately  and  pressing  her  against  the  rigging.  It  was  a 
wonder  that  she  and  all  of  them  were  not  disabled,  for  the  jamming  of  the  water 
was  enough  to  break  bones. 

They  got  her  up  a  few  ratlines  ;  then  came  another  surge,  during  which  they 
gripped  hard  ;  then  tliere  was  a  second  ascent,  and  so  on.  The  climbing  was 
the  easier  and  the  holding  on  the  more  difficult,  because  the  mast  was  depressed 
to  a  low  angle,  its  summit  being  hardly  ten  feel  higher  than  its  base.  Even  in 
the  top  there  was  a  desperate  struggle  with  the  sea,  and  even  after  Clara  was  in 
the  sling  she  was  half  drowned  by  tl^e  surf. 

Meantime  the  people  on  shore  had  made  fast  the  hawser  to  a  tree  and 
manned  the  halyard.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  by  Clara  or  Thurstane  when  they 
parted,  for  slie  was  speechless  with  exhaustion  and  he  with  anxiety  and  terror. 
The  moment  he  let  go  of  her  he  had  to  grip  a  loop  of  top-hamper  and  hold  on 
with  all  his  might  to  save  himself  from  being  pitched  into  the  water  by  a  fresh 
jerk  of  the  mast  and  a  fresh  inundation  of  flying  surge.  When  he  could  look  at 
her  again  she  was  far  out  on  the  hawser,  rising  and  falling  in  quick,  violent,  per* 
ilous  swings,  caught  at  by  the  toppling  breakers  and  howled  at  by  the  undertow. 
Another  deluge  blinded  him  ;  as  soon  as  he  could  he  gazed  shoreward  again, 
and  shrieked  with  joy;  she  was  being  carefully  lit'ted  from  the  sling;  she  was 
saved — if  she  was  not  dead. 

rWhen  the  apparatus  was  hauled  back  to  the  top  the  captain  said  to  Thur- 
stane, "Your  turn  now." 

The  young  man  hesitated,  glanced  around  for  Coronado  and  Garcia,  and  re- 
plied, "  Those  first." 

It  was  not  merely  humanity,  and  not  at  all  good-svill  toward  these  two  men, 
which  held  him  back  from  saving  his  life  first  ;  it  was  mainly  that  motto  of  no- 
bility, that  phrase  which  has  such  a  mighty  influence  in  the  army,  "^«  officet 
and  a  gentleman.''''  He  believed  that  he  would  disgrace  his  profession  and  him* 
/  self  if  he  should  quit  the  wreck  while  any  civilian  remained  upon  it. 
p*  Coronado,  leaving  his  uncle  to  the  care  of  a  sailor,  had  already  climbed  the 
shrouds,  and  was  now  crawling  through  the  lubber  hole  into  the  top.  For  once 
his  hardihood  was  beaten  ;  he  was  pale,  tremulous  and  obviously  in  extreme  ter« 
ror ;  he  clutched  at  the  sling  the  moment  he  was  pointed  to  it.     With  the  ut- 


OVERLAND.  201 

moBt  care,  and  without  even  a  look  of  reproach,  Tluirstane  helped  secure  Iiim  in 
the  loops  and  launched  him  on  his  journey.  Next  came  the  turn  of  Garcia. 
The  old  man  seemed  already  dead.  He  was  liviil,  his  lips  blue,  his  hands  lielp- 
less,  his  voice  gone,  his  eyes  glazed  and  set.  ll  was  necessary  to  knot  him  into 
the  sling  as  tig'iitlyas  if  he  were  a  corpse  ;  and  wiitn  he  reached  shore  it  could 
be  seen  tiiat  he  was  borne  off  like  a  dead  weiglit. 

"  Now  then,"  saia  the  captain  to  Tluirstane.     "  We  can't  go  till  you  do. 
(^  Passengers  first."  • 

E.\liausted-by  his  drenchings,  and  by  a  kind  of  labor  to  which  he  was  not  ac- 
customed, the  lieutenant  obeyed  this  order,  took  his  place  in  the  sling,  nodded 
good-by  to  the  brave  sailors,  and  was  hurled  out  of  tlie  top  by  a  plunge  of  surf, 
as  a  criminal  is  pushed  from  the  cart  by  tlie  hangman. 

No  idea  has  been  given,  and  no  complete  idea  can  be  given,  of  the  difficul- 
ties, sufterings,  and  perils  of  this  transit  shoreward.  Owing  to  the  rising  and 
failing  of  the  mast,  the  hawser  now  tautened  with  a  jerk  which  flung  the  voy- 
ager up  against  it  or  even  over  it,  and  now  drooped  in  a  large  bight  which  let 
him  down  into  the  seethe  of  water  and  foam  that  had  just  rushed  over  the  ves- 
sel, forcing  it  down  on  its  beam  ends.  Tluirstane  was  four  or  five  limes  tossed 
and  as  often  submerged.  The  waves,  the  wind,  and  tlie  wreck  played  with  him 
successively  or  all  together.  It  was  an  outrage  and  a  torment  wliich  surpassed 
some  of  tlie  tortures  of  the  Inquisition.  First  came  a  quick  and  breatiiless 
plunge  ;  then  he  was  imbedded  in  the  rushing,  swirling  waters,  drumming  in  his 
ears  and  stifling  his  breath  ;  then  he  was  dragged  swiftly  upward,  the  sling  turn- 
ing him  out  of  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  breath  would  depart  from  his  body 
before  the  transit  was  over.  When  at  last  he  landed  and  was  detached  from  the 
cordage,  he  was  so  bruised,  so  nearly  drowned,  so  every  way  exhausted,  that  he 
could  not  stand.  He  lay  for  quite  a  while  motionless,  his  head  swimming,  his 
legs  and  arms  twitching  convulsively,  every  joint  and  muscle  sore,  catching 
his  breath  with  painful  gasps,  almost  fainting,  and  feeling  much  as  if  he  were 
dying. 

He  had  meant  to  help  save  the  captain  and  sailors.  But  there  was  no  more 
work  in  him,  and  he  just  had  strength  to  walk  up  to  the  village,  a  citizen  holding 
nim  by  either  arm.  As  soon  as  he  could  speak  so  as  to  be  understood,  he  asked, 
first  in  English  and  then  in  Spanish,  "  How  is  the  lady  ?" 

".She  is  insensible,"  was  the  reply — a  reply  of  unmeant  cruelty. 
Remembering  how  he  had  suffered.  Thurstane  feared  lest  Clara  had  received 
her  death-stroke  in  the  slings,  and  he  tottered  forward  eagerly,  saying,  "Take 
me  to  her." 

Arrived  at  the  house  where  she  lay,  he  insisted  upon  seeing  her,  and  had  his 
way.  He  was  led  into  a  room  ;  he  did  not  see  and  could  never  remember  what 
sort  of  a  room  it  was  ;  but  there  she  was  in  bed,  her  face  pale  and  her  eyes 
closed;  he  thought  she  was  dead,  and  he  nearly  fell.  But  a  pitying  womanly 
voice  murmured  to  him,  "She  lives,"  with  other  words  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand, or  could  not  afterward  recall.  Trusting  that  this  unconsciousness  was  a 
sleep,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  away  by  helping  hands,  and  presently  was 
himself  in  a  bed,  not  knowing  how  he  got  there. 


r< 


202  OVERLAND. 

Meantime  the  tragedy  of  the  wreck  was  being  acted  out.  Tlie  sling  broke 
once,  the  sailor  who  was  in  it  falling  into  the  undertow,  and  perishing  there  in 
spite  of  a  rush  of  the  townspeople.  One  of  the  two  men  who  were  washed 
overboard  at  the  first  shock  was  also  drowned.  The  rest  escaped,  including 
the  heroic  captain,  who  was  the  last  to  come  ashore. 

When  Thurstane  was  again  permitted  to  see  Clara,  it  was,  to  his  great  as- 
tonishment, the  morning  of  the  following  day.  He  had  slept  like  the  dead  ;  if 
any  one  had  sought  to  awaken  him,  it  would  liave  been  almost  impossible  ;  there 
was  no  strength  left  in  body  or  spirt  but  for  sleep.  Clara's  story  had  been 
much  the  same  :  insensibility,  then  swoons,  then  slumber  ;  twelve  hours  of  utter 
unconsciousness.  On  waking  the  first  words  of  each  were  to  ask  for  the  other. 
Thurstane  put  on  his  scarcely  dried  uniform  and  hurried  to  the  girl's  room. 
She  received  him  at  the  door,  for  she  had  heard  his  step  although  it  was  on  tip- 
toe, and  she  knew  his  knock  although  as  light  as  the  beating  of  a  bird's  wing. 

It  was  another  of  those  interviews  which  cannot  be  described,  and  perhaps 
should  not  be.  They  were  uninterrupted,  for  the  ladies  of  the  house  had 
learned  from  Clara  that  this  was  her  betrothed,  and  they  had  woman's  sense  of 
the  sacredness  of  such  meetings.  Presents  came,  and  were  not  sent  in  :  Coro- 
nado  called  and  was  not  admitted.  The  two  were  alone  for  two  hours,  and  the 
two  hours  passed  like  two  minutes.     Of  course  all  the  ugly  past  was  explained. 

"  A  letter  dismissing  you  !  "  exclaimed  Clara  with  tears.  "  Oh  !  how  could 
you  think  that  I  would  write  such  a  letter  ?  Never — never  !  Oh,  I  never  could. 
My  hand  should  drop  off  first.  I  should  die  in  trying  to  write  such  wickedness. 
What !  don't  you  know  me  better  ?  Don't  you  know  that  I  am  tru«  to  you  ? 
Oh,  how  could  you  believe  it  of  me  ?     My  darling,  how  could  you  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,"  begged  the  humbled  young  fellow,  trembling  with  joy  in  his 
humility.  "  It  was  weak  and  wicked  in  me.  I  deserved  to  be  punished  as  I 
have  been.  And,  oh,  I  did  not  deserve  this  happiness.  But,  my  little  girl,  how 
could  I  help  being  deceived?  There  was  your  handwriting  and  your  signa- 
ture." 

"Ah  !  I  know  who  it  was,"  broke  out  Clara.  "  It  has  been  he  all  through. 
He  shall  pay  for  this,  and  for  all,"  she  added,  her  Spanish  blood  rising  in  her 
cheeks,  and  her  soft  eyes  sparkling  angrily  for  a  minute. 

"I  have  saved  his  life  for  the  last  time,"  returned  Thurstane.  ''I  have 
spared  it  for  the  last  time.     Hereafter " 

"  My  darling,  my  darling  !  "  begged  Clara,  alarmed  by  his  blackening  brow. 
**  Oh,  my  darling,  I  don't  love  to  see  you  angry.  Just  now,  when  we  have  just 
been  spared  to  each  other,  don't  let  us  be  angry.  I  spoke  angrily  first.  For- 
give me." 

"  Let  him  keep  out  of  my  way,"  muttered  Thurstane,  only  in  part  pacified. 

"Yes,"  answered  Clara,  thinking  that  she  would  herself  send  Coronado  off, 
SO  that  there  might  be  no  duel  between  him  and  this  dear  one. 

Presently  the  lover  added  one  thing  which  he  had  felt  all  the  time  ought  to 
have  been  said  at  first. 

"  The  letter it  was  right.     Although  he  wrote  it,  it  was  right.     I  have  no 

claim  to  marry  a  rich  woman,  and  you  have  no  right  to  marry  a  poor  man." 

He  uttered  this  in  profound  misery,  and  yet  with  a  firm  resolution.  Clara 
turned  pale  and  stared  at  him  with  anxious  eyes,  her  lips  parted  as  though 
to  speak,  but  saying  nothing.  Knowing  his  fastidious  sense  of  honor,  she 
guessed  the  full  force  with  wliich  this  scruple  weighed  upon  him,  and  she  did 
not  know  how  to  drag  it  off  his  soul. 


OVERLAND.  203 

"You  are  worth  a  million,"  lie  went  on,  in  .1  broken-hearted  sort  of  voice 
which  to  us  may  seem  l.uijjliaMe,  but  which  brought  the  tears  into  Clara's  eyes. 

The  next  instant  she  brightened  ;  she  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  that  she 
was  not  worth  a  million  ;  so  she  smiled  like  a  sunburst  and  caught  him  gayly  by 
the  wrists. 

"  A  million  !  "  she  scoffed,  laughingly.  "  Do  you  believe  all  Coru..ado  tells 
you  ? " 

"  What  !  isn't  it  true?"  exclaimed  Tluirstane,  reddening  with  joy.  "Then 
you  are  not  heir  to  your  grandfather's  fortune.''  It  was  one  of  ///j- lies  ?  Oh, 
my  little  girl,  I  am  forever  happy." 

She  had  not  meant  all  this  ;  but  how  could  she  undeceive  him  ?  The  tempt- 
ing thought  came  into  her  mind  that  she  would  marry  him  while  he  was  in  this 
ignorance,  and  so  relieve  him  of  his  noble  scruples  al)0ut  taking  an  heiress.  It 
was  one  of  those  white  lies  which,  it  seems  to  us,  must  fade  out  of  themselves 
from  the  record  book,  without  even  needing  to  be  blotted  by  the  tear  of  an 
angel. 

"  Are  you  glad  .'  "  she  smiled,  though  anxious  at  heart,  for  deception  alarmed 
her.     "  Really  glad  to  find  me  poor  ?  " 

His  only  response  was  to  cover  her  hands,  and  hair,  and  forehead  with 
kisses. 

At  last  came  the  question.  When  ?  Clara  hesitated  ;  her  face  and  neck 
bloomed  with  blushes  as  dewy  as  flowers  ;  she  looked  at  him  once  piteously,  and 
then  her  gaze  fell  in  beautiful  shame. 

"When  would  you  like  .'' "  she  at  last  found  breath  to  whisper. 

"  Now — here,"  was  the  answer,  holding  both  her  hands  and  begging  with  his 
blue-bl.tck  eyes,  as  soft  then  as  a  woman's. 

"Yes,  at  once,"  he  continued  to  implore.  "It  is  best  everyway.  It  will 
save  you  from  persecutions.     My  love,  is  it  not  best  ? " 

Under  the  circumstances  we  cannot  wonder  that  this  should  be  just  as  she 
desired. 

"  Yes — it  is — best,"  she  murmured,  hiding  her  face  against  liis  shoulder. 
"  What  you  say  is  true.     It  will  save  me  trouble." 

At"ter  a  short  heaven  of  silence  he  added,  "  I  will  go  and  see  what  is  needed. 
I  must  find  a  priest." 

As  he  was  departing  she  caught  him  ;  it  seemed  to  her  just  then  that  she 
could  not  be  a  wife  so  soon  ;  but  the  result  was  that  after  another  silence  and  a 
Ljaint  sobbing,  she  let  him  go. 

Meantime  Coronado,  that  persevering  and  audacious  but  unlucky  conspira- 
tor, was  in  treble  trouble.  He  was  afraid  that  he  would  lose  Clara  ;  afraid 
that  his  ploltings  had  been  brought  to  light,  and  that  he  would  be  punished  ; 
afraid  that  his  uncle  would  die  and  thus  deprive  him  of  all  chance  of  succeeding 
to  any  part  of  the  estate  of  Mufioz.  Garcia  had  been  brought  ashore  apparently 
at  his  last  gasp,  and  he  had  not  yet  come  out  of  his  insensibility.  P'or  a  time 
Coronado  hoped  that  he  was  in  one  of  his  fits  ;  but  after  eighteen  hours  he  gave 
up  that  feeble  consolation  ;  he  became  terribly  anxious  about  the  old  man  ;  he 
felt  as  though  he  loved  him.  The  people  of  Monterey  universally  admitted  that 
they  had  never  before  known  such  an  affectionate  nephew  and  tender-hearted 
Christian  as  Coronado. 

He  tried  to  see  Clara,  meaning  to  make  the  most  with  her  of  Garcia's  condi- 
tion, and  hoping  that  thus  he  could  divert  her  a  little  from  Thurstane.  But 
somehow  all  his  messages  failed ;  the  little  house  which  held  her  repelled  him 


204  OVERLAND. 

as  if  it  ]iad  been  a  nunnery  ;  nor  could  he  get  a  word  or  even  a  note  from  her, 
Tiie  truth  is  that  Clara,  fearing  lest  Coronado  should  tell  more  stories  about  her 
million  to  Thurstane,  had  taken  the  women  of  the  family  into  her  confidence 
and  easily  got  tiiem  to  lay  a  sly  embargo  on  callers  and  correspondents. 

On  tiie  second  day  Garcia  came  to  himself  for  a  few  minutes,  and  struggled 
hard  to  say  something  to  his  nephew,  but  could  give  forth  only  a  feeble  jabber, 
after  which  he  turned  blank  again  Coronado,  in  the  extreme  of  anxiety,  now 
made  another  effort  to  get  at  Clara.  Reaching  her  house,  he  learned  from  a 
bystander  that  she  had  gone  out  to  walk  with  the  Americano,  and  then  he 
thouglit  he  discovered  them  entering  the  distant  church. 

He  set  otf  at  once  in  pursuit,  asking  himself  with  an  anxiety  which  almost 
made  him  faint,  "  Are  they  to  be  married  .'' " 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

In  those  days  the  hymeneal  laws  of  Cnlifornia  were  as  easy  as  old  shoes,  and 
people,  could  espouse  each  other  about  as  rapidly  as  they  miglit  want  to. 

The  consequence  was  that,  althougli  Ralph  Thurstane  and  Clara  Van  Die- 
men  had  only  been  two  days  in  Monterey  and  had  gone  through  no  forms  of 
publication,  they  were  actually  being  married  when  Coronado  reached  the  vil- 
lage church. 

Leaning  against  the  wall,  with  eyes  as  fixed  and  face  as  livid  as  if  he  were  a 
corpse  from  the  neighboring  cemetery,  he  silently  witnessed  a  ceremony  which 
it  would  have  been  useless  for  him  to  interrupt,  and  then,  stepping  softly  out  of 
a  side  door,  lurked  away. 

He  walked  a  quarter  of  a  mile  very  fast,  ran  nearly  another  quarter  of  a  mile, 
turned  into  a  by-road,  sought  its  thickest  underbrush,  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
and  growled.  For  once  he  had  a  heavier  burden  upon  him  than  he  could  bear 
in  human  presence,  or  bear  quietly  anywhere.  He  must  be  alone  ;  also  he  must 
weep  and  curse.  He  was  in  a  state  to  tear  his  hair  and  to  beat  his  head  against 
the  earth.  Refined  as  Coronado  usually  was,  admirably  as  he  could  imitate  the 
[tranquil  gentleman  of  modern  civilization,  he  still  had  in  him  enough  of  the  nat- 
ural man  to  rave.  For  a  while  he  was  as  simple  and  as  violent  in  his  grief  as 
j_^ever  was  any  Celtiberian  cave-dweller  of  the  stone  age. 

Jealousy,  disappointed  love,  disappointed  greed,  plans  balked,  labor  lost,  per- 
ils incurred  in  vain  !  All  the  calamities  that  he  could  most  dread  seemed  to  have 
fallen  upon  him  together  ;  he  was  like  a  man  sucked  by  the  arms  of  a  polypus, 
dying  in  one  moment  many  deaths.  We  must,  however,  do  him  the  justice  to 
believe  that  the  wound  which  tore  the  sharpest  was  that  which  lacerated  his 
heart.  At  this  time,  when  he  realized  that  he  had  altogether  and  forever  lost 
Clara,  he  found  that  he  loved  her  as  he  had  never  yet  believed  himself  capable 
of  loving.  Considering  the  nobility  of  this  passion,  we  must  grant  some  sympa- 
thy to  Coronado. 
Y  Unfortunate  as  he  was,  another  misfortune  awaited  him.  When  he  returned 
to  the  house  where  Garcia  lay,  he  found  that  the  old  man,  his  sole  relative  and 
sole  friend,  had  expired.  To  Coronado  this  dead  body  was  the  carcass  of  all  re- 
maining hope.  The  exciting  drama  of  struggle  and  expectation  which  had  so 
violently  occupied  him  for  the  last  six  months,  and  which  had  seemed  to  prom- 
ise such  great  success,  was  over.  Even  if  he  could  have  resolved  to  kill  Clara, 
there  was  no  longer  anything  to  be  gained  by  it,  for  her  money  would  not  de- 
scend to  Coronado.     Even  if  he  should  kill  Thurstane,  that  would  be  a  harm 


OVERLAND.  205 

rather  than  a  benefit,  for  his  widow  woukl  hate  Coronado.     If  he  did  any  evil 
deed  now,  it  must  be  from  jealousy  or  from  viiidictiveness.     Was  nuiidcr  ot  any 
kind  wortli  while?     For  the  time,  whetiicr  il  were  worth  while  or  not,  he  was  fu- 
\   rious  enouj^h  to  do  it. 

r^  If  he  did  not  act,  he  must  go  ;  for  as  everything  had  miscarried,  so  much  had 
'  doubtless  been  discovered,  and  he  miglit  f.drly  expect  chastisement.  Wiiile  lie 
hesitated  a  glance  into  the  street  showed  him  something  which  decided  him,  and 
sent  him  (at  from  Monterey  before  sundown.  Half  a  dozen  armed  horsemen, 
three  of  them  obviously  Americans,  rode  by  with  a  pinioned  prisoner,  in  wiiom 
Coronado  recognized  Texas  Smith.  He  did  not  stop  to  learn  that  his  old  bravo 
had  committed  a  murder  in  the  village,  and  that  a  vigilance  committee  had  sent 
a  deputation  after  him  to  wait  upon  him  into  the  other  world.  The  sight  of  that 
haggard,  scarred,  wicked  face,  and  the  thought  of  what  confessions  the  brute 
miglit  be  led  to  if  he  should  recognize  his  former  employer,  were  enough  to 
make  Coronado  buy  a  horse  and  ride  to  unknown  regions. 

Under  the  circumstances  it  would  perhaps  be  unreasonable  to  blame  him  for 
leaving  his  uncle  to  be  buried  by  Clara  and  Thurstane. 

These  two,  we  easily  understand,  were  not  much  astonished  and  not  at  all 
/    grieved  by  his  departure. 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  Thurstane,  wlien  he  learned  the  fact.     "  No  wonder." 

"  I  am  so  glad  ! "  replied  Clara. 

"I  suspect  him  now  of  being  at  the  bottom  of  all  our  troubles." 

*|Don^t_let_usJa!kj)X  it,  my  love.  Jt  js^too  ugly.  The  present  is  so  beauti- 
ful !^  ^^ 

"  I  must  hurry  back  to  San  Francisco  and  try  to  get  a  leave  of  absence," 
said  the  Iiusband,  turning  to  pleasanter  subjects.  "  I  want  full  leisure  to  be 
happy." 

"And  you  won't  let  them  send  you  to  San  Diego  ?"  begged  the  wife.  "No 
more  voyages  now.     If  you  do  go,  I  shall  go  with  you." 

"  Oh  no,  my  child.  I  can't  trust  the  sea  with  you  again.  Not  after  this,"  and 
he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  wreck  of  the  brig. 

"Then  I  will  beg  myself  for  your  leave  of  absence." 

Thurstane  laughed;  that  would  never  do;  no  such  condescension  in  /u's 
wife  ! 

They  went  by  land  to  San  Francisco,  and  Clara  kept  the  secret  of  her  mil- 
lion during  the  whole  journey,  letting  her  husband  pay  for  everything  out  of  his 
shallow  pocket,  precisely  as  if  she  had  no  money.  Arrived  in  the  city,  he  lett 
her  in  a  hotel  and  hurried  to  headquarters.  Two  hours  later  he  returned  smil- 
ing, with  the  news  that  a  brotlier  officer  had  volunteered  to  take  his  detail,  and 
that  he  had  obtained  a  honeymoon  leave  of  absence  for  thirty  days. 

"Barclay  is  a  trump,"  he  said.  "It  is  all  the  prettier  in  him  to  go  that  he 
has  a  wife  of  his  own.  The  commandant  made  no  objection  to  the  e.\change. 
In  fixct  the  old  fellow  behaved  like  a  father  to  me,  shook  hands,  patted  me  on  the 
shoulder,  congratulated  me,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Old  boy,  married  himself, 
and  very  fond  of  his  family.  Upon  my  word,  it  seems  to  better  a  man's  heart  to 
marry  him." 

"Of  course  it  does,"  chimed  in  Clara.  "He  is  so  much  happier  that  of 
course  he  is  better." 

"  Well,  my  little  princess,  where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Go  first  to  see  Aunt  Maria.  There  !  don't  make  a  fiice.  She  is  very  good 
in  the  long  run.     She  will  be  sweet  enough  to  you  in  three  days." 


206  OVERLAND. 

"  Of  course  I  will  go.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Boarding  at  a  hacienda  a  few  miles  from  town.  We  can  take  horses,  cantei 
out  there,  and  pass  the  night." 
r'  She  was  full  of  spirits  ;  laughed  and  chattered  all  the  way  ;  laughed  at  every- 
thing that  was  said  ;.  chattered  like  a  pleased  child.  Of  course  she  was  thinking 
of  the  surprise  that  she  would  give  him,  and  how  she  had  circumvented  his  sense 
of  honor  about  marrying  a  rich  girl,  and  how  hard  and  fast  she  had  him.  More- 
over the  contrast  between  her  joyous  present  and  her  anxious  past  was  alone 
enough  to  make  Iier  run  over  with  gayety.  All  her  troubles  had  vanisliecl  in  a 
^  pack  ;  she  had  gone  at  one  bound  from  pnrgalory  to  paradise. 

At  the  hacienda  Thurstane  was  a  little  struck  by  the  respect  with  which  the 
servants  received  Clara  ;  but  as  she  signed  to  them  to  be  silent,  not  a  word  was 
uttered  which  could  give  him  a  suspicion  of  the  situation.  Mrs.  Stanley,  more- 
Over,  was  taking  a  siesta,  and  so  there  was  another  tell-tale  mouth  shut. 

"  Nobody  seems  to  be  at  home,"  said  Clara,  bursting  into  a  merry  laugh  over 
her  trick  as  they  entered  the  house.  "Where  can  the  master  and  mistress 
be?" 

They  were  now  in  a  large  and  handsomely  furnished  room,  which  was  the 
parlor  of  the  hacienda. 

"Don't  sit  down,"  cried  Clara,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  joy.  "Stand  just 
there  as  you  are.  Let  me  look  at  you  a  moment.  Wait  till  I  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

She  fronted  him  for  a  few  seconds,  watching  his  wondering  face,  hesitating, 
blushing,  and  laughing.  Suddenly  she  bounded  forward,  threw  her  arms  around 
his  shoulders  and  cried  excitedly,  hysterically,  "  My  love  !  my  husband  !  all  this 
is  yours.     Oh,  how  happy  I  am  !  " 

Tlie  next  moment  she  burst  into  tears  on  the  shoulder  to  which  she  was 
clinging. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  demanded  Thurstane  in  some  alarm  ;  for  he  did  not 
know  that  women  can  tremble  and  weep  with  gladnes.%  and  he  thought  that 
surely  his  wife  was  sick  if  not  deranged. 

"What!  don't  30U  guess  it?"  she  asked,  drawing  back  with  a  little  more 
calmness,  and  looking  tenderly  into  his  puzzled  eyes. 

"  You  don't  mean ?  " 

*'Yes,  darling." 

"It  can't  be  that ?" 

"  Yes,  darling." 
r'  Ke  began  to  comprehend  llie  trick  that  had  been  played  upon  him,  allhough 
as  yet  he  could  not  fully  credit  it.  What  mainly  bewildered  him  was  that  Clara, 
whom  he  had  always  supposed  to  be  as  artless  as  a  ciiild — Clara,  whom  he  had 
Cared  for  as  an  elder  and  a  father — should  have  been  able  to  keep  a  secret  and 
devise  a  plot  and  carry  out  a  mystification. 

"Great Scott!"  he  gasped  in  his  stupefaction,  using   the  name  of  the 

then  commander-in-chief  for  an  oath,  as  officers  sometimes  did  in  those  days. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  laughed  and  chattered  Clara.  "Great  Scott  and  great 
Thurstane!  All  yours.  Three  hundred  tliousand.  Half  a  million.  A  million, 
I  don't  know  Iiow  much.  All  I  know  is  that  it  is  all  yours.  Oh,  my  darling! 
oh,  my  darlrng  !  How  I  have  fooled  you  !  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  Say,  are 
you  angry  ?     What  will  you  do  to  me  ?  " 

We  must  excuse  Thurstane  for  finding  no  other  chastisement  than  to  squeeze 
h»r  in  his  arms  and  choke  her  with  kisses.     Next  he  held  her  from  him,  set  her 


OVERLAND,  207 

Jown  upon  a  sofa,  fell  back  a  pace  and  stared  at  licr  mucli  as  if  slie  were  a  to- 
tally new  discovery,  something  in  the  way  of  an  arrival  troni  the  moon.  He  was 
in  a  state  of  profound  amazement  at  the  dexterity  with  which  she  had  taken  his 
destiny  out  of  his  own  hands  into  hers,  without  his  knowledge.  He  had  not  sup- 
posed that  she  was  a  tenth  part  so  clever.  For  the  first  time  he  perceived  that 
she  was  his  match,  if  indeed  she  were  not  the  superior  nature  ;  and  it  is  a  re- 
markable fact,  though  not  a  dark  one  if  one  looks  well  into  it,  that  lie  respected 

I     her  the  more  for  being  too  much  for  him. 

r'  "  It  beats  Hannib.d,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Who  would  have  expected  such  gen- 
eralsliip  in  you  .'  1  am  as  much  astonished  as  if  you  had  turned  into  a  knight  in 
armoTl  "W'elH  how  mucli  it  has  saved  me  !  I  should  have  hesitated  and  been 
miserable  ;  and  I  should  have  married  you  all  the  same  ;  and  then  beer,  ashamed 
of  marrying  money,  and  had  it  rankle  in  me  for  years.     And  now — oh,  you  wise 

I    little  thing  ! — all  1  can  say  is,  I  worship  you." 

r-        '' Yc«,  darling,"  replied  Clara,  walking  gravely  up  to  him,  putting  lur  hands 
on  his  shoulders,  anil  looking  him  thoughtfully  in  the  eyes.     '•  It  was  the  wisest 
thing  I   ever  diil.     Don't  Jie  afraid  of  me,_  I  never  shall  be  so  clever  a;;ain.     I 
I     never  shall  be  so  tempted  to  be  clever." 

T^  We  must  pass  over  a  few  months.  Thurstane  soon  found  that  he  had  the 
Munoz  estate  in  his  hands,  and  that,  for  the  while  at  least,  it  demanded  all  his 
time  and  industry.  Moreover,  there  being  no  war  and  no  chance  of  martial  dis- 
tinction, it  seemed  absurd  to  let  himself  be  ordered  about  from  one  hot  and 
cramped  station  to  another,  when  he  had  money  enough  to  build  a  palace,  and  a 
wife  who  could  make  it  a  paradise.  Finally,  he  had  a  taste  for  the  natural  sci- 
ences, and  his  observations  in  the  Great  Canon  and  among  the  other  marvels  of 
the  desert  had  quickened  this  inclination  to  a  passion,  so  that  he  craved  leisure 
for  the  study  of  geology,  mineralogy,  and  chemistry.  He  resigned  his  commis- 
sion, established  himself  in  San   Francisco,  bought  all  the  scientific  books  he 

I    could  hear  of,  made  expeditions  to  the  California  mountains,  collected  garrets 

l^  full  of  specimens,  and  was  as  happy  as  a  physicist  always  is. 

Periiaps  his  happiness  was  just  a  little  increased  when  Mrs.  Stanley  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  returning  to  New  Yoik.  The  lady  had  been  amiable 
on  the  whole,  as  she  meant  always  to  be  ;  but  she  could  not  help  daily  taking  up 
her  parable  concerning  the  tyranny  and  stupidity  of  man  and  the  superior  virtue 
of  woman  ;  and  sometimes  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  put  it  to  Thurstane  that  he 
owed  everything  to  his  wit'e  ;  all  of  which  was  more  or  less  wearing,  even  to  her 
niece.  At  the  same  time  she  was  such  a  disinterested,  well-intentioned  creature 
that  it  was  impossible  not  to  grant  her  a  certain  amount  of  admiration.  For  in- 
stance, when  Clara  proposed  to  make  her  comfortable  for  life  by  settling  upon 
her  fifty  thousand  dollars,  she  replied  peremptorily  that  it  was  far  too  much  for 
an  old  woman  who  had  decided  to  turn  her  back  on  the  frivolities  of  societv,  and 
she  could  with  difficulty  be  brought  to  accept  twenty  thousand. 

r'       Furthermore,  she  was  capable,  that  is.  in  certain  favored  moments,  of  cnnfess- 

'  ing  error.  "  My  dear,"  she  said  to  Clara,  some  weeks  after  the  marriage,  "  I 
have  made  one  great  mistake  since  I  came  to  these  countries.  1  believed  that 
Mr.  Coronado  was  the  right  man  and  Mr.  Thurstane  the  wrong  one.  Oh,  that 
smoothtongued,  shiny-eyed,  meeching,  bowing,  complimenting  hypocrite!  I 
see  at  last  what  a  villain  he  was.  /see  it,"  she  emphasized,  as  if  nobody  else 
had  discovered  it.  "To  think  that  a  person  who  was  so  right  on  the  main  ques- 
tion [female  suffrage]  could  be  so  wrong  on  everything  else  !  The  contradiction 
adds  to  his  guilt.  Well,  I  have  had  my  lesson.  Every  one  must  make  her  mis- 
take.    I  shall  never  be  so  humbugged  again." 


tOS  OVERLAND. 

Some  little  time  after  Thurstane  had  received  the  acceptance  of  liis  resigna- 
tion and  established  himself  in  his  handsome  city  house,  Aunt  Maria  observed 
abruptly,  "  My  dears,  I  must  go  back." 

"Go  back  where  ?  To  the  desert  and  turn  hermit?"  asked  Clara,  who  was 
accustomed  to  joke  her  relative  about  "sphere^  and  missions." 

"To  New  York,"  replied  Mrs.  Stanley.  "1  can  accomplish  nothing  here. 
This  miserable  Legislature  will  take  no  notice  of  my  petitions  for  female  suf- 
frage." 

"Oh,  that  is  because  you  sign  them  alone,"  laughed  the  younger  lady. 

"I  can't  get  anybody  else  to  sign  them,"  sai«J  Aunt  Maria  with  some  asperi- 
ty. "And  what  if  I  do  sign  them  alone?  A  house  full  of  men  ought  to  have 
gallantry  enough  to  grant  one  lady's  request.  California  is  not  ripe  for  any 
great  and  noble  measure.  I  can't  remain  where  I  find  so  little  sympathy  and 
collaboration.     I  must  go  where  I  can  be  of  use.     It  is  my  duty." 

And  go  she  did.  But  before  she  shook  off  her  dust  against  the  Pacific  coast 
there  was  an  interview  with  an  old  acquaintance. 

It  must  be  understood  that  the  fatigues  and  sufferings  of  that  terrible  pil- 
grimage through  the  desert  had  bothered  the  constitution  of  little  Sweeny,  and 
that,  after  lying  in  garrison  hospital  at  San  Francisco  for  several  months,  he  had 
been  discharged  from  the  service  on  "certific.ite  of  physical  disability."  Thur- 
stane, who  had  kept  track  of  him,  immediately  took  him  to  his  house,  first  as  an 
invalid  hanger-on,  and  then  as  a  jack  of  all  work. 

As  the  family  were  sitting  at  breakfast  Sweeny's  voice  was  heard  in  the  ve- 
randa outside,  "colloguing"  with  another  voice  wiiich  seemed  familiar. 

"Listen,"  whispered  Clara.  "That  is  Captain  Glover.  Let  us  hear  what 
they  say.     They  are  both  so  queer  !  " 

"An'  what"  ("fwat"  he  pronounced  it)  •'  the  divil  have  ye  been  up  to  ?"  de- 
manded Sweenj'.  "  Ye're  a  purty  sailor,  buttoned  up  in  a  long-tail  coat,  wid  a 
white  hankerchy  round  yer  neck.  Have  ye  been  foolin'  paple  wid  makin'  'em 
think  ye're  a  Protestant  praste  ?  " 

"I've  been  blowin'  glass.  Sweeny,"  replied  the  sniffling  voice  of  Phineas 
Glover. 

"Blowin'  glass!  Och,  yees  was  always  powerful  at  blowin'.  But  I  niver 
heerd  ye  blow  glass.     It  was  big  lies  mostly  whin  I  was  a  listing." 

"Yes,  blowin'  glass,"  returned  the  Fair  Havener  in  a  tone  of  agreeable  re- 
miniscence, as  if  it  had  been  a  not  unprofitable  occupation.  "  P^ound  there 
wasn't  a  glass-blower  in  all  Californy.  Bought  'n  old  machine,  put  up  to  the 
mines  with  it,  blew  all  sorts  'f  jigmarigs  'n'  thingumbobs,  'n'  sold  'em  to  the  mi- 
ners 'n'  Injuns.  Them  critters  is  jest  like  sailors  ashore;  they'll  buy  anything 
they  set  eyes  on.  Besides,  I  sounded  my  horn  ;  advertised  big,  so  to  speak  ; 
got  up  a  sensation.  Used  to  mount  a  stump  'n'  make  a  speech  ;  told  'em  I'd 
blow  Yankee  Doodle  in  glass,  any  color  they  wanted  ;  give  'em  that  sort  'f  gos- 
pel, ye  know." 

"  An'  could  ye  do  it  ?  "  inquired  the  Padd}-,  confounded  by  the  idea  of  blowing 
a  glass  tune. 

"  Lord,  Sweeny  !  you're  greener  'n  the  miners.  When  ye  swaller  things  that 
way,  don't  laugh  'r  ye'll  choke  yerself  to  death,  like  the  elephant  did  when  he 
read  the  comic  almanac  at  breakfast." 

"  I  don't  belave  that  nuther,"  asseverated  Sweeny,  anxious  to  clear  himself 
from  the  charge  of  credulity. 

"Don't  believe  that !  "  exclaimed  Glover.     "  He  did  it  twice." 


OVERLAND.  209 

"  Och,  go  way  wid  ye.  He  couUln't  clidkc  Innisi-li  .itilui  he  was  dead.  1 
wouldn't  l)elave  it,  not  if  I  see  Idm  turn  1)1, ick  in  the  l.ice.  It's  yeiself  Ml  fjet 
choked  some  day  if  yees  don't  quit  blatiieiin'.  llul  what  did  ye  j^et  for  yer 
blowin'  ?     Any  more  'n  the  clothes  ye're  got  to  3  cr  hack  ?  " 

For  answer  Glover  dipped  into  his  pockets,  took  out  two  handfuls  of  gold 
pieces  and  chinked  them  under  the  Irislinian's  nose. 

"Blazes!  ye're  lousy  wid  money."  conimented  .Sweeny.  "Ye  want  some- 
body to  scratch  yees." 

"Twenty  thousan'  dollars  in  hank,"  added  Cllover.  "All  by  blowin'  'n'  trad- 
in'.  Coin'  hum  in  the  next  steamer.  Anythin'  I  can  do  for  ye,  oUl  messmate? 
Say  how  much." 

"  It's  the  liftinant  is  takin'  care  av  me.  He's  made  a  i)elther  livin'  nor  yees, 
a  thousand  times  over,  by  jist  marryin'  the  right  leddy.  An'  he's  going  to  put 
me  in  charrge  av  a  farrnm  that  they  call  the  hayshindy,  where  I'll  sell  the  cattle 
for  myself,  wid  half  to  him,  an'  make  slathers  o'  money." 

"  Thunder,  Sweeny  !  \'ou'll  end  by  ridin'  in  a  coach.  What'll  ye  take  fpr  ye. 
chances?  Wal,  I'm  glad  to  hear  je're  doin'  so  well.  I  am  so,  for  old  times 
sake." 

"Come  in.  Captain  Glover,"  at  this  moment  called  Clara  through  the  blinds. 
"  Come  in.  Sweeny.  Let  us  all  have  a  talk  together  about  the  old  times  and  the 
new  ones.'' 

So  there  was  a  long  talk,  miscellaneous  atul  delightful,  full  of  reminiscences 
and  congratulations  and  good  wishes. 

"Wal.  we're  a  lucky  lot."  said  Glover  at  last.  "  .Sh'd  like  to  hear  'f  some 
good  news  for  the  sergeant  and  Mr.  Kelly.     Sh'd  go  back  hum  easier  for  it." 

"  Kelly  is  first  sergeant,"  stated  Thurstane,  "and  Meyer  is  quartermaster- 
sergeant,  with  a  good  chance  of  being  quartermaster.  He  is  capable  of  it  and 
deserves  it.  He  ought  to  have  been  promoted  years  ago  for  his  gallantry  and 
services  during  the  war.  1  hope  every  day  to  hear  that  he  has  got  hi.s  commis- 
sion as  lieutenant."    • 

"  Wal,  God  bless  'em,  'n'  God  bless  the  hull  army  !  "  said  Glover,  so  grati- 
fied that  he  felt  pious.     "An'  now,  good  by.     Got  to  be  movin'." 

"Stay  over  night  with  us,"  urged  Thurstane.  "Stay  a  week.  Stay  as  long 
as  you  will." 

"  Do,"  begged  Clara.  "You  can  go  geologizing  with  my  husband.  You  can 
start  Sweeny  on  his  farm." 

"  Och,  he's  a  thousin'  times  welkim,"  put  in  .Sweeny,  "though  I'm  afeard  av 
him.  He'd  tache  the  cattle  to  trade  their  skins  wid  .iche  other,  an  slather  me 
wid  lies  till  I  wouldn't  know  which  was  the  baste  an'  which  was  Sweeny." 

Glover  grinned  with  an  air  of  being  flattered,  but  rcjMied,  "Like  to  slay  first 
rate,  but  can't  work  it.      Passage  engaged  for  to-morrow  mornin'." 

"  Indeed  !  "  e.Kclaimed  Aunt  Maria,  agreeably  surprised  by  an  idea. 

And  the  result  was  that  she  went  to  New  York  under  the  care  of  Captain 
Glover. 

As  for  Clara  and  Thurstane,  they  arc  surely  in  a  state  which  ought  to  satisfy 
♦heir  friends,  and  we  will  therefore  say  no  more  of  them. 

THE    KNI) 


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Smilh  FuncL 


RARI    BOOK 
COI  I.KCTION 


THE  I.IBRARY  OK  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OK 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

WiLmer 
336 


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